The Fall of the Silence
by ASouffleToServeTwo
Summary: Even as the Doctor begins to fall in love for the first time in hundreds of years, he encounters his biggest threat yet. As he gathers a ragtag gang of companions to accompany him on his potential final journey, he must face challenges to both his intellect and his personal life. Because on the fields of Trenzalore, at the fall of the Eleventh, a question will be asked. (Whouffle)
1. Prologue: Robot Dogs and Souffles

"Geronimo!"

The Doctor yelled in triumph, his laughs of joy echoing around the TARDIS' circular control room. The Doctor was in the centre of it, and was crouching over a workbench. He pulls out his sonic screwdriver and aimed it into the pile of machinery and circuit that lay before him. Another smile breaks across his face as he hears the machinery click into place and start to whir.

"It stands to reason really. A neutron overdrive built with more than ten capacitors has the processing capability of 100 times its factory setting. Doctor, you genius!"

His cheerful face turned in a nanosecond to one of serious contemplation.

"Of course, it IS highly illegal in almost every quadrant of the known universe." He said thoughtfully. Then as quick as he had the thought, he shook it off and found himself in awe again.

"But the universe doesn't have any say in the inner workings of a Time lord's TARDIS" he continued. "Why didn't I think of it sooner? A man is nothing without his dog!"

He pressed a red control node on the top of the machine, and suddenly it came to life. Small LEDS broke into light all over the body, and inside the framework, gears began to spin faster than the human could ever perceive.

The Doctor patted the awakening robot form. It lifted its head to meet his smiling face.

"Hello again old friend." The Doctor said fondly.

"Maaaaaaster." K9 said in a croaky metallic voice. The little robot dog had undergone may upgrades, but his voice was just as the Doctor remembered it, and he gave an excited clap of his hands at his _pet_ project came to life before his eyes.

"Master." K9 said again, his voice unit beginning to stabilise, his red eyes lighting up as he spoke. "This unit detects many illegal upgrades including a gamma radiator flux regenerator, and this unit would recommend that due to a large probability of an over-clocked core run-down, that this unit's thermo-conditioning displacement array should be calibrated at a lower setting."

The Doctor laughed "Ahead of me as always K9. It's so good to be able to talk to someone who understands the principles of quantum theoretics. As humans go, Clara is, well, brilliant. But there's only one Doctor and only one Doctor's dog!".

As the Doctor reached inside his panelling gently, K9 extended the probe on his forehead, and began to take readings of the area.

"This unit detects multiple Higgs boson particle accelerators in the area. According to my drive, there is a 98.67% probability with room for error margins that this the TARDIS. Type 14, recently undergone structural repositioning."

The Doctor patted the dog softly, "A lot's changed around here. Its been far too long since we last met for me to explain everything. I've been through changes... and I've met many people... brilliant people, kind people..." The doctor's voice trailed off, and there was a pain in his normally invigorating tones. "But those people are gone now. The Ponds. My Ponds. And I will never forget them".

He was suddenly full of life again - "But now I have Clara Oswin Oswald! Computer genius, mastermind of the arts of baking. One heck of a girl. And now I've got you, too! K9, Mark Five! I've upgraded your systems but I left your core CPU the same. Too many memories attached to that little voice."

"Why I didn't bring you back on board sooner is a mystery to me." he continued, chewing on the tip of his screwdriver as he put the last wire back into place. "I've had a lot on my mind. Ever since my regeneration. Not a dull moment! Ah K9, you should have been there! We've seen vampires, Smilers, Daleks, Cybermen, Silurians... And dinosaurs!" He put emphasis on the last one, a sense of awe and nostalgia at the remembrance of THAT adventure.

"But now... The adventures begin anew, eh?" he whispered to the robot dog as its head reared back up.

"Conversation has been recorded in permanent memory files for later use and recollection, Master." the little robot spoke in its infectiously cheerful metallic voice.

"Good dog!" the Doctor exclaimed, standing up to his full height. "Its great to have you back K9!" he said warmly to the dog.

"Good to be back, Master." the dog replied, as it rolled off the table, no doubt still warming up its new guidance systems.

The Doctor stood back and admired his handiwork. Rebuilding one of his oldest companions without taking away from his earlier incarnations had proven difficult, but he was proud with the result. The way the robot spoke, moved and even extended its sensory probe was overwhelmingly nostalgic for the Doctor.

There really was something of all of them in there.

He caught a scent drifting in from one of the TARDIS corridors. A smell of chocolate, flour and yeast. A smell that captured the very essence of all that was good in the world.

The Doctor smiled to himself. Clara was cooking again.

For a girl who had gotten lost so many times in her youth, the time he had spent showing her around the sanctums of his grand time machine was shockingly short. It was like she'd felt instantly at home, and had joyously ran down the corridors, finding the library, the games room and the luxurious kitchens faster than even the Doctor could ever keep up with.

There was a certain energy about her. A cheerful and energetic essence that made it impossible to feel down for long; a contagious sense of overwhelming joy about life itself.

It was little wonder that she had saved him. He had been a broken man after his Pond's had been torn from his two hearts by the cruelty of fate. He had just wanted loneliness, forced it upon himself. He had wanted nothing to do with the affairs of the universe ever again. But she had arrived in his life (albeit in a complex way that the Doctor had yet to figure out) and picked him up from the darkness, and filled him with life and joy again. She had saved him. And in turn, she had saved the universe.

There was so much mystery surrounding her that the Doctor had found it too hard to resist her. A woman twice dead? Three physically identical people with the same personalities?

She was an enigma, and usually the Doctor hated enigmas. But not this one. This one he was warming up to greatly.

The smell was getting stronger and the Doctor inhale deeply, and found himself unable to stop salivating.

The Doctor would never force cooking upon her. Clara simply loved to entertain herself. When she wasn't cooking delectable baked goodies he could find her in the swimming pool at 6am in the morning, swimming the backstroke energetically. Or in the library, encapsulated by one of the millions of collected works of literature the Doctor had collected in his travels.

She never needed telling twice when it was time for an adventure. She had a dress for the every occasion.

The Doctor had found himself following her every wish. 101 Places to See. She would find a hundred more. She just loved travelling, and the freedom the TARDIS gave her.

Oddly, the TARDIS didn't seem to be enjoying her. The Doctor had his suspicions about the cause of this. For all the great parts that made up her character, she was _impossible. _And the TARDIS had made it long clear to the Doctor that she hated impossible things.

The Doctor also suspected that the TARDIS may be jealous. She was, after all, a living creature. The Doctor had actually met and spoken to her once, but their time together was cut short but the inevitability of her return to immobile form.

But ever since that occasion, the TARDIS had been much more alive than ever. She would often do all the work for the Doctor, pulling levers and spinning cogs. It was like she wanted to show him that she was just as much a companion to him as Amy, Rory, or now Clara was. In fact, she was arguably the oldest friend of the Doctor. Long after the fall of Gallifrey and the Time War they had stuck together, bonded for life.

The mad man. And his blue box.

As if to prove this point, the TARDIS made a horrific screeching sound. The Doctor was used to it by now. It signalled the arrival of Clara in the control room. Clara had noticed that the machine disliked her, and had began to imitate the noise back at the machine, as if countering her retorts. K9 was not used to the sound, however, and his sensors began whirling alarmingly.

"Master. TARDIS distress signal activated."

"Just ignore it. False alarm."

The robot dog's sensors ceased. "Yes, master."

Clara entered the control room, a huge grin plastered on her face. As she came towards him, the Doctor felt his pulse quicken. He couldn't help it. She really was _stunning. _He'd have to be blind not to notice it.

She lit up the whole room.

"Hey, chin boy. These soufflés turned out great! I had a little trouble getting the timings on the oven right. Not least because your TARDIS _kept resetting the timer._" She sounded a bit cross, but wasn't letting it show.

"Ah sorry, Clara. She has trouble with.. uh..", the Doctor struggled to explain the TARDIS' hostility towards her. "...Cakes" he finally finished, rather feebly.

Clara just nodded and flashed him a knowing smile. The Doctor tried to hide how his insides felt like jelly at the sight of it.

"Whatever you say time boy." She set the tray down, then spotted K9. "What's that?"

The Doctor looked a bit offended. "_His_ name is K9. K9 mark five, to be exact. He's an old friend."

Clara came over and shook the robot dog's antennae half-jokingly. "It's a pleasure, K9."

The dog remained silent.

The Doctor stepped in. "Sorry Clara, I have entered you in the database yet. K9, this is Clara, she is your mistress. Do you understand?"

The dogs eyes flashed, "Yes, master. Greeting acknowledged, Mistress Cla-ra."

Clara laughed. "What a funny little robot you are!". She turned to the Doctor. "Mistress? Does that make you the _master_?" she said flirtatiously, raising her eyebrows.

The Doctor went scarlet. "Uh.. well, That's just how his, uh... database recognizes us."

Clara giggled. If there was anything she loved more than baking soufflé, it was teasing the Doctor.

"So then, Chin-boy. You want chocolate, or plain?" she said, gesturing to her tray.

"Chocolate, of course", the Doctor replied with a smile.

"And for K9?" she said, passing the Doctor a delicious-looking chocolate-topped soufflé. "Or does he prefer the vegetarian option?".

The robot dog failed to see the joke. "Mistress, this unit is not equipped with the capacity for consumption of food products or liquids."

Clara winked at K9. "He's watching his figure. Wish I could be so restrained."

She picked a plain soufflé off the tray and sat on the sofa, facing the Doctor at his work-desk.

"So, Clara Oswald." The Doctor said through mouthfuls of soufflé. "Where do you want to go next?"

Clara looked thoughtful. "Well, I've always been a fan of the Beatles. Could we go see them play?"

The Doctor's eyes lit up. "As am I. Nothings too good for my Oswin."

Clara looked confused, a face she didn't often adopt. "Oswin? Why do you call me that? Is it a nickname? I didn't think you minded me calling you chin-boy?"

The Doctor smiled "Yeah. Oswald for the win. A nickname." He looked in deep thought. Clara wanted to press further, but decided against it.

"I never, ever thought I'd say those words without being laughed at! But then that's what time travels for, huh? Thank you so much!" she said, excitement building in her voice.

"I'll plot a course then. Maybe we can get you an autograph. But you must never, i repeat, never, try and make a quick coin by selling it. We don't do that in here, never. Okay?"

Clara looked genuinely upset by his sudden aggression. "I would never do that, Doctor. Money's never been important to me. I just love the experience, and the thrill."

The Doctor felt instantly guilty and moved across and sat next to her on the sofa. He put his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I know you're not like that. It's just, there have been others, before... and.."

Clara smiled and cut the Doctor off "Well then, they clearly weren't as good a companion as me. And certainly not wise to the ways of time travel, like Clara Oswald." She gestured to herself and attempted to look ready-for-action. She gave up and broke down laughing. "How's the soufflé?"

The Doctor was clearly enjoying it, but looked thoughtful. "It's good. Really good. Your best yet." She smiled and blushed. "But it definitely needs something else."

He reached into the TARDIS console panel and produced a bowl of custard. To Clara's horror he poured it all over the soufflé, burying it. He tried it with his spoon. "Much better. Now its perfect!"

"That's an Oswald family recipe that dates back years! And what does he do, he pours custard on it! Do you want to dishonour my cooking?" she protested.

The Doctor laughed. "Everything tastes better with custard. Especially fish fingers!"

Clara made a face, then started laughing. "You really are alien!" she cried.

The Doctor looked up from his soufflé to find her looking right at him. Her eyes were so beautiful in their brown intensity. The Doctor couldn't pull away. They just stared at each other, in a trance.

The Doctor had a million thoughts at once. He wondered whether he should try and kiss her, or if that would creep her out. In the end, he just ended up looking stupid.

"Clara..." he began uncertainly. He really was out of practice. The look on her face told him she wanted him to go on.

He fumbled his words "Clara. I-" he started, but was cut off but a loud wailing noise that both relived him and annoyed him at the same time.

The TARDIS cloister bells.

"TARDIS distress call activated." K9 rumbled into life.

Clara snapped out of her trance too. "Doctor, what's going on?" she asked, panicking yet intrigued.

The Doctor ran to the console. "She's picking something up!", the Doctor shouted.

The control room was suddenly alive with whirring of dials and machinery. The TARDIS began to de materialise, and shook heavily. The Doctor fell down the stairs and landed on his back. Clara clung to the sofa for her life. The tray of soufflés hit the floor. K9 was sent rolling down the passageway.

The shaking continued for a good 30 seconds, before grinding to a halt. The TARDIS had landed. Somewhere.

The Doctor opened his eyes, to see Clara's outstretched hand.

"I've got you. Damsel in distress" she smiled.

The Doctor allowed himself to be picked up. He ran over to make sure K9 was okay. Then her ran back to the TARDIS. He looked up at the monitor.

He began reading off it aloud "Earth. 2013. London."

Clara looked dismayed. "Home? No way, that's not exciting!"

The Doctor snapped his fingers and the TARDIS doors opened.

"The TARDIS has brought us here for a reason. Almost certainly something exciting! And something almost certainly dangerous" he said, looking at Clara.

Clara's features instantly brightened. "Dangerous, huh? Now we're talking!" She ran through the TARDIS doors faster than the Doctor could ever try and stop her. But he didn't want to stop her.

He turned back to the TARDIS console. "So sexy... what have you got for me this time?" he said, smiling all the while. Then he turned and followed Clara through the doors.

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. An Old Friend

Craig Owens was sat in the fourth row of St. Marks church on a Wednesday afternoon. Outside the sun was sweltering, and Craig could feel the sweat sticking his clothes to his skin.

He had been sat waiting for almost half an hour now to get the christening of his son Alfie underway. He'd had a bad feeling about how long we was going to be sat there waiting when Sophie had told him that she couldn't make it because of her work, but he had kept his thoughts private, for politeness and consideration.

But now he was in constant discomfort, the hard wooden seat he was sat on digging into his backside. A fly buzzed around his head that he could never seem to swat away.

He checked his watch: 2.12. He sighed deeply. Still another twenty minutes until it was his son's turn. He watched as the white - cloaked priest held a random parents' child over the holy water, and dipped its toes in to the bowl.

Craig had briefly entertained the idea of playing DoodleJump under his coat flaps, but decided against it, because out of the corner of his eye he saw three hooded priests who looked as though they were looking straight at him.

Craig had noticed how the priests never said anything, which he had thought was strange, but shrugged it off. He knew very little about christianity, and was only getting Alfie baptised on Sophie's wishes.

He looked over at his son, who was quietly sucking his thumb, sitting in his cradle on the seat next to him. He gave him a smile, and picked up his rattle.

"You as bored as I am, Alfie?" he whispered in a hushed voice. His infant son gurgled. Craig shook the rattle. "Who's a boring priest then, eh?".

He paused as he felt a small tap on his shoulder. He turned to face a very tall woman who was dressed in similar white robes to the priests, who raised a finger to her lips and spoke in an unnerving snake-like voice: "Silence, please".

Craig nodded politely, but rolled his eyes when she was out of sight.

He turned back to look at the front of the church. He prepared himself for a boring twenty minutes.

But at that very moment, he heard a faint roaring sound, like a lawnmower on LSD.

He smiled to himself. He had the noise twice before. It signalled only one thing.

Maybe his day wasn't going to be so boring after all.

(MEANWHILE)

Clara burst from the TARDIS doors with all the excitement of a kid in a sweet shop, only to be greeted with semi-darkness and claustrophobia.

She wrinkled her nose at a smell that reminded her of her old school changing rooms.

"Doctor" she said in a cynical and scalding tone. "The only danger out here is death by sock stink!"

The Doctor peeked his head out of the TARDIS doors. "He produced his sonic screwdriver. Satisfied with a small bleep from the device, he stepped out.

"This must be some kind of... closet" he said out loud.

Clara's face broke into a flirty smile that the Doctor could not see in the dark. "Now _this_ is a snog box" she said, amused.

"I think I've found the door!" the Doctor yelled, pushing at a wooden surface he had found whilst clawing in the dark.

He yelled in surprise as the door gave way and he fell head-first through it. He landed face-down, and heard Clara laughing.

He stood up slowly (trying to retain some of the last of his dignity) straightened his bow tie, and began to examine his surroundings.

At first glance, he appeared to be in some kind of gothic mansion. The walls and stone floor had connotations of a Transylvania manor,a nd seemed to date back to the fifteenth century.

But Clara confirmed his suspicions as she exclaimed "Oh great! It's a church! I hate churches."

The Doctor picked up a brochure advertising fund-raisers, and nodded in agreement.

"It's a church all right. But what kind of church? A church of the Eigstynian Province, a church of the Endless Spiral, a church of the Cassidopyan Ranges of the Planet Thoom..."

Clara raised her eyebrows. "Or perhaps, a church of the Christian religion, on boring old Planet Earth" she said, in a bored voice.

The Doctor spun round to look at her. "Also possible. But don't make it sound so boring! When you travel with me, you get to experience all sorts of amazing wonders almost every time. So don't make fun of the church you get on this one occasion! Churches are cool."

Clara nodded with a cheeky grin. "I'm sure churches appreciate _your _stamp of 'cool' approval".

The Doctor was back in a thoughtful pose, hand on his screwdriver.

"So, why would the TARDIS bring us here? She must be trying to guide me towards something, but what?" he pondered, scratching his head.

Clara began to grow bored and she sat down on a chair, and started to swing her legs, singing the tune to Mission Impossible.

The Doctor threw her a look. "Do you _mind?_ That is really distracting."

"Oh. Sorry" she said, with an apologetic face.

She waited a good ten seconds and started again, louder.

The Doctor decided to ignore her, and took a reading of the air with his sonic screwdriver.

Then the green end of the sonic device began to glow brightly and a loud wailing sound began emitting from it.

The Doctor held it to his ear, and looked worried.

Clara stopped whistling and hopped over to the Doctor, finally looking excited at the prospect of some danger.

The Doctor looked deeply concerned, however. "Its picking up some kind of signal. Extra-terrestrial."

A frown furrowed on his brow. "More specifically. Cyberman technology. Anyone in this building is in huge danger."

And with that he leapt into action, bursting through the huge oak doors at full speed. Clara gave an excited giggle and followed at her own pace.

Craig didn't know whether to be embarrassed or excited as the tall man waving his green glowstick burst through through the back doors of the church hall screaming "Everyone get out! Now! You're all in great danger!"

The priests looked angry underneath their white hoods at the entrance of the Doctor. Everyone in the hall had turned and was watching him run down the aisle towards the front. The woman who had told Craig off earlier began marching towards him, her heels clicking angrily.

"Listen to me! You all need to get out now!" the Doctor yelled fiercely at the dumbstruck crowd.

Craig found himself on his feet and running towards him too.

The white robed woman reached the Doctor and stared him down, before saying angrily "What is your business here? You are interrupting the sacred ceremony!"

The Doctor gave her a defiant stare right back. "_Me?_ I'm trying to save _you!_ Humans!"

The woman snapped "Get out of here now before I call enforcement." As if to announce themselves, the seated white robed priests on stage stood up and turned towards him, an intense but unseen glare upon their faces.

Craig reached the Doctor. "Uh, Doctor, what are you doing here?" he asked, breathlessly.

The Doctor turned to look at him and his face broke into a huge grin. "Craig Owens!" he exclaimed. "I could ask you the same thing!"

Craig returned the smile, but noticing the rising antagonism of the priestess, he gestured to the door. "Maybe we should have this conversation outside?"

The Doctor looked puzzled, but allowed Craig to lead him out of the aisle and out the back doors into the foyer.

Clara passed them, and after a look of confusion was shared between her and Craig, followed them back out.

"Okay, Doctor, what is going on?" Craig asked quizzically.

The Doctor clasped his shoulders. "It is good to see you too, Craig". He mime-kissed both his cheeks in his sign of affection he _still _thought was completely normal.

Clara looked as baffled as Craig did. _"Doctor?" _she said sternly.

The Doctor remembered himself all of a sudden. "Ah. Yes. The Cybermen".

Craig's eyes grew wide. "The Cybermen! Have they come back to finish me off? Am I going to be assassinated?" He looked intensely worried all of a sudden.

The Doctor looked straight at him. "Craig Owens. I will _not _let that happen."

Clara stamped her foot impatiently. "What on Earth is going on?"

Craig noticed her. "Who are you?"

The Doctor put one hand on both Craig's and Clara's shoulders. "Craig, this is Clara Oswald. Clara, this is Craig Owens."

Craig shook Clara's hand hesitantly. "I thought the Doctor was gay?", he muttered to himself.

Clara laughed. "Oh, I like you!", she said with a smile.

Ignoring their banter about him, the Doctor continued. "Clara travels with me now. Craig and I have met in the past. Twice. And had generally awesome adventures. And tea."

Craig and Clara both nodded, finally understanding a bit of the situation.

"But there's no time for this now!" the Doctor yelled. "There is cybermen tech somewhere in this building, and if i don't find it, we are all in trouble!"

Craig looked confused, but reached into his pocket an pulled out a set of keys. On one of the metal rings, hung a small silver rat-esque thing.

The Doctor paused, and looked very sheepish. "Ah. You kept the Cybermat? Why?" He looked confused, a face he rarely adopted.

Craig shrugged. "Good memories?"

The Doctor smiled. "Humans. You're so... _nostalgic_".

"Doctor. Whenever you show up there's always danger and horror. Whatever the reason why your here, its not good, is it?" Craig asked.

"Most likely not" The Doctor remarked, deep in thought.

Clara spoke up. "So, are you like his _boy toy_, Craig", she asked mischievously.

Craig looked shocked, and a little embarrassed. "NO! I mean, no way! I'm happily in a relationship with a child!"

Clara giggled. He was _just_ as easy as the Doctor to wind up.

The Doctor kept thinking. Suddenly his eyes widened. "Craig?", he asked worriedly, "Where's Alfie?".

"Back in there." Craig gestured to the main hall.

The Doctor turned and ran suddenly through the doors. He was just in time to see the Craig's infant son being carried onto the stage by the white-robed figure.

Craig and Clara ran back in, in pursuit of the Doctor. "Wait up, Doctor!" they yelled, in unison.

But he wasn't going anywhere. He ran past the white-robed woman who had stopped him earlier, and towards the priests.

Without, warning, the lead priest turned around and drew a huge metal sword from a sheath on his back.

The crowd screamed, and began to file out of their seats.

Clara and Craig pushed past the screaming masses, and stood next to the Doctor, who stared defiantly at the armed priest.

"Let. Him. Go." the Doctor yelled at the white figure.

Suddenly the other three priests were on their feet, and swords drawn.

Clara looked alarmed. "Doctor? What are priests doing carrying swords?"

"They're not priests." the Doctor replied, matter-of-factly. "They're monks. Headless Monks."

As if to demonstrate their physical disability, the lead monk dropped his hood to reveal... nothing. An empty space where a head should have been.

The other three monks dropped their hoods too. All four began advancing, swords held level at their chests, and chanting loudly.

"They've got Alfie Doctor!" Craig cried in horror.

"No harm will come to the boy. We only want the Doctor", came a slithery, evil voice from behind them. The Doctor turned to face the white-robed woman.

"I never forget a face" The Doctor said to her, menace rising in his voice. "Madame Kovarian."

The Leader of the Human Silence smiled devilishly. "Oh, Doctor. You didn't really think you could escape us did you? You thought you could fake your death, and that we would believe it. We are _far,_ far too smart for that."

"Doctor!" Clara yelled in fear of the closing trap around them. The monks' chanting was getting louder.

"This is where it ends, Doctor" Kovarian said with a smirk.

The Doctor didn't back down, or take any intimidation from these very final words. He just stared right back at her.

"Oh, Madame Kovarian. You really never learn do you?"

The chanting was getting closer.

"Through all your hatred of me, you'd think you would have thought his out better. This... trap. Because that's waht it is, through and through, a trap, using _my friends _as bait!"

"Doctor, you're cutting this a little close!" Clara yelled again.

Craig was shaking from head to toe. He was crying out "It's okay, Alfie!" to his crying son, still in the arms of the lead monk.

The Doctor continued, a deep smile flickering across his face. "Didn't anyone ever tell you? There's one thing you never put in a trap. If you're smart, if you value your continued existence, if you have any plans about seeing tomorrow, there is one thing you never, ever put in a trap!"

Kovarian looked on, amused. The monks were very close now. Clara reached out and took the Doctor's hand. He grabbed it, and held it tight.

"Go on then, Doctor. enlighten me, in your last moments" Kovarian said, victory seemingly assured in her eyes and facial expression.

The Doctor, smiling harder than ever before, grasping Clara's sweaty but soft hand tightly, raised his screwdriver above his head, slowly, like in an action film.

"Me."

TO BE CONTINUED.

NEXT CHAPTER: THE BELLS OF SAINT MARKS

**AUTHORS NOTES: Thank you so much for all your feedback on the first chapter. As a fairly new Fan Fiction writer, it means a lot to have so many follows and favourites within five days of publication. I can only hope this second chapter raises the bar even higher and meets your expectations. One thing you should know is that, as big a supporter of Whouffle as I am, in this story their relationship is going to be a long slow-burner. If you're looking for something a lot faster, I can only recommend you check out some of the other great Whouffle stories on this website. If you liked this chapter, then all I ask is that you leave a review below. Whether it be praise or criticism, there's nothing I like more than reading a review. They fuel my creative fires, and make me more excited to write the next chapter. I'm having a blast writing this, as I'm such a big Doctor Who fan, and I hope I do the characters justice here.**

**So, thanks for reading, and I'll hopefully see you next time. Have a wonderful day.**

**SlyvsClockwerk.**


	3. The Bells of Saint Marks

Time seemed to stand still as the sonic screwdriver sent out high frequency waves in all directions. Suddenly the archaic church hall was filled with incredibly loud sound as the screwdriver took control of the nearby synthesizer.

'The Entertainer' played at a volume so intensely loud that Clara let go of the Doctor's hand and put both her hands to her ears and shrieked. Craig closed his eyes and grimaced as the sound rang through his ears.

But the ultrasound frequencies were having a much more dire effect on the Headless Monks, who had stopped in their tracks and were shaking violently as the waves tore through them. There were barely detectable metallic clangs as their swords hit the stone tiles.

The Doctor yelled loudly "Let them have it!", and as if in response, the screwdriver emitted an even louder frequency. Smoke began to rise from the synthesiser, and the monks began to fall to their knees. A final crescendo of sound was reached, and the monks fell forward onto their fronts, and lay still.

The Doctor let go of his screwdriver's node and the hall echoed with sound for a few seconds, then all was silent. He examined his handiwork. All around them where the monks had been standing they were now lying still, and Madame Kovarian was on her knees, a permanent snarl in her teeth.

"I warned you", the Doctor said quietly.

He turned quickly to check on Clara and Craig. Craig gave him a queasy smile, and stood up slowly. The Doctor held his hand out to Clara who took it, and he gently pulled her onto her feet. She seemed dizzy, and fell into his arms, which he had not expected, but didn't mind in the slightest. He held her tightly, stroked her hair gently, and let her sit on one of the wooden seats, to recover.

Satisfied that his friends were unharmed, the Doctor turned to face Kovarian, who looked up at him with an indescribable level of hatred. He stood over and looked down with barely described contempt.

"The Silence. You never learn, do you? You continue to mess with me and my friends. Well, you've made your last mistake now messing with Alfie Owens!", he spoke softly, but with a hint of burning rage.

Kovarian just stared at him, loath dripping from her eyes.

The Doctor returned the brooding stare. "I'm taking you to the Shadow Proclamation. I've had enough of you for a lifetime."

Kovarian just kept staring.

The Doctor turned to his shaken companions, and a new smile broke on his lips. Craig had picked up his infant son from the arms of the fallen monk and was cradling him gently. He looked up at the Doctor, grateful tears in his eyes.

"You've saved him again, Doctor. Thank you. Thank you so much", he said, his voice unstoppably breaking with emotion.

The Doctor walked over to him, and stroked Alfie's head. "Again? No, that was you Craig. Now, I guess we're even, huh?", he said, grinning.

Craig laughed slightly, relieved that the situation was under control. "Even... that sounds fair."

The Doctor smiled at him warmly, and then to Clara who was back on her feet, and had walked over to him.

"We did it, Doctor! You did it!" she said, laughing with excitement and joy. She pulled him into a tight embrace, which he returned fully for the first time in many years, arms wrapped around her waist. They broke apart, and he said "That's what we do, remember?" She smiled, and nodded.

The Doctor turned back to Kovarian, who's breath was now under control, and was watching the Doctor and Clara's embrace with uncontrolled spite.

"How long have you been using this church as a Silence base, Kovarian?" he asked her, the seriousness back in his eyes.

Kovarian spoke for the first time since she had fallen down. "St. Marks has been under Silence control since it was first built. We have... integrated the headless monks into their positions, and the idiotic humans of this barren planet didn't notice a thing!"

A fire exploded in the Doctor's eyes. "Don't. You. Dare. Don't you dare call the human race idiots. You would be nothing without them. You're like leeches, clinging to the backs of a greater civilisation, using them for your own ends because you are unable to do them yourself. You are the ones who are pathetic", he said, his anger no longer controlled, now erupting like Krakatoa from his lips.

Madame Kovarian smiled a reptilian smile. "And yet, Doctor, they never noticed. The bells on this church. They don't exist."

Craig looked confused. "Yes. They do. They're ringing right now." He gestured upwards towards the chime of the great bells in the rafters above. Clara nodded in agreement.

The Doctor looked at them. "No. They aren't. The bells of Saint Marks don't exist. They're a perception filter. To hide the alien ship in their place."

Kovarian laughed roughly. "See what I mean, Doctor. A simple race."

Clara spoke out, sounding annoyed. "Hey, you shut your mouth!"

Kovarian just threw her a pitiful look. "Poor old Clara Oswin Oswald. Forced to look at that chin all day."

Clara froze. "How do you know my name? Doctor, how does she know my name?!"

"Oh, we know all about you, Clara. All about you and the Doctor. About your poor old mother. About your fate."

Clara went white as a sheet. Craig put his hand on her shoulder instinctively, comfortingly.

The Doctor stepped between Kovarian and Clara, his instincts taking over. "You leave her alone, Kovarian! Your quarrel is with me, not her!"

The crouching woman returned her gaze of hatred to the Doctor. "Touching. Sickening, actually. You have _feelings_ for her?"

The Doctor didn't back down. "She's my friend. Something _you_ would never understand!"

He had heard enough of her taunts. "Craig! I need to get my unbreakable handcuffs from the TARDIS. I trust that you're strong enough to keep her here until I get back?"

Craig nodded uncertainly, but the Doctor's confidence in him spurred him on.

The Doctor gave a final reassuring smile to his friends, and turned and ran to the TARDIS.

Craig took his place behind Kovarian, and held her hands in place.

Kovarian snarled at him. "Hands off me, you giant ape!"

Craig ignored her taunts, and held her firmly.

Clara was still breathless from Kovarian's words to her. She had never felt so alone, and afraid. She wanted strong arms around her. Specifically: the Doctors. But she would never dare say it out loud.

But the cruel Kovarian wasn't done with her yet. "He calls you his friends, but do either of you even know the Doctor? What he's like?"

Craig, still pinning her hands, replied angrily "From the one who just tried to steal my son!"

Kovarian laughed. "Sacrifices must be made to smite this demon dead. He is a goblin, a trickster, a beast soaked in the blood of a billion galaxies. Death follows him everywhere he goes. He doesn't care about any of you. He just keeps you around, like animals, to revel in his _glory."_

Clara found herself on her feet. She wasn't going to allow this woman to further inflict harm on her. "The Doctor cares for all of us! He saves all our lives every day and never asks to be thanked!", she said angrily. "I'm proud to be his friend!"

Craig nodded in agreement. "And I!"

But their words just spurred Kovarian on even more. "_The Doctor. _The word for 'healer'. The man would destroy you all in a heartbeat to save his own skin. Hasn't he told you how he murdered his entire species?"

"No! Because he wouldn't do that!" Clara shrieked. She had her firsts clenched. Despite her impulse to protect her friend, she couldn't help but start to wonder whether there was any truth to what Kovarian was saying.

Then Kovarian delivered the killer blow. "Then why won't he tell you his name? Because he's ashamed. Do you think that you're the one girl in the universe who shared the gift of time and space with the Doctor? He has had many more, and will continue to have more long after you are rotting in your shallow grave!"

"ENOUGH!"

The Doctor had returned with the handcuffs. He was furious at hearing Kovarian's taunts. "I'm putting you away where you will never see the light."

He grabbed Kovarian and locked her hands in chains. He started to march her down the aisle to the TARDIS, but she burst into frantic laughter.

"Oh, Doctor. You didn't really think you'd won did you? No. We'll never be finished with you._ Your silence will fall_!"

Suddenly their was an explosion and smoke filled the church. In the shock of the explosion the Doctor let go of Kovarian's chains and she wriggled free.

The Doctor cried out as she ran into the all-consuming fog, and vanished.

He heard Clara and Craig crying out to him, and moved in their general direction, hands out in front of him.

The smoke began to clear, and he found the pair coughing wildly. But as a calm silence returned to the old church hall, there was no sign of Kovarian. She was gone.

(LATER)

The Doctor, Craig and Clara were all sitting in Craig's living room, sipping tea from a set of porcelain cups. The Doctor was smiling as he skimmed a book containing photos of Craig, Sophie and Alfie, taken sometime after the ordeal with the Cybermen. Clara was sat with Alfie bouncing on her knee. She was making funny faces at him. Craig was sat in deep comfort in chair. His hand was at his face in a posture indicating deep thought. At last, he spoke.

"Doctor. I want to come with you"

The Doctor closed the photobook, its spine creaking as it snapped shut. He looked at his companion, and smiled.

"Even after all of what happened today, you still trust me?", he said with a sadness to his smile.

Craig looked right at him. "I don't care what that Kovarian woman says about you, Doctor. You saved my son, you got me together with Sophie, and saved the universe. Twice. To my knowledge!"

The Doctor looked at him glumly. "She got away. Because I was too _slow. _She got away."

Craig met his eyes with concern. "Something big's going on here. People are trying to hurt you, and I won't stand by while they do that to my mate."

"They tried to hurt me through you, Craig", The Doctor said with a sense of urgently. "And through Alfie". He looked incredibly guilty, a look hardly surprising for a man with the weight of the universe on his shoulders. And the answer to the first question.

"And I want to help it stop. Once and for all. I'm telling you because I know you're too stubborn to ask for help. but you need all the help you can get. I'm coming with you."

The Doctor looked a lot more cheerful. "Now I'm sure I know why the TARDIS brought me here. She knew that I needed you, Craig Owens." He glanced at his friend, who was watching him with anticipation. "It's dangerous, you know. travelling with me."

Craig looked amused. "I know that, dumbo. I've been with you before, haven't I?"

Clara would have spoken up about the connotations of the "being with you" part of his sentence, but Alfie gurgled and spit fell onto her tights, to which she squealed.

"Last time you saw me, you kept talking about your 'farewell tour'. You looked so depressed. And I hated seeing that."

The Doctor felt a lump in his throat at his companion's gesture of genuine concern. _Humans_. They always overwhelmed him with emotion.

"Then I would be honoured to have you on board, Craig." The Doctor spoke warmly. "I'm sure Clara won't mind, will you?", he said, looking at his female companion with expectation.

"Course not, Craig. Always a good idea to have a real man around the place!" she replied jokingly.

Craig and Clara both laughed. The Doctor blushed gently.

"Then adventure is only one step through those blue doors, Craig Owens", the Doctor said, gesturing at his blue box. He snapped his fingers, and, without even looking at it, the TARDIS opened wide.

Craig excitedly got up from his chair and ran into the TARDIS. Mere seconds later he emerged, looking bewildered. The Doctor and Clara both laughed as he walked the full 360 around the TARDIS, feeling the walls.

"It's... bigger on the inside...", Craig said, gob-smacked.

"And smaller on the outside!", Clara added, which led to the TARDIS screeching loudly. "Calm yourself, deary", she said to the time machine cheekily.

"Oh, you'll fit right in, Craig Owens", the Doctor said with a laugh.

The three of them entered the TARDIS control room - a marvel of engineering, beset by a tall column at its centre. The TARDIS control panel.

"This is... incredible!" Craig yelled. "I mean... I knew you were eccentric Doctor, but this..."

He gasped, then laughed in disbelief as K9 rolled in from one of the interior passageways. "You've even got a robot dog. Of _course_ you have.."

The Doctor clapped his hands. "Adventures tomorrow. But for now, you';d better settle in. Bedrooms down the first corridor to your right. Or left. Ah... Clara you show him!"

Clara folded her arms and ignored him. "You've got legs!"

And with that, she wished the pair good night and walked off down the corridor.

The Doctor turned away from Craig to the console. But the big guy had a few last words for the Time Lord, words he couldn't have prepared himself for, even with an IQ of 9000.

"She likes you, you know Doctor."

The Doctor pretended to be busy with the TARDIS controls. He didn't want Craig to see his embarrassment.

"Who?", he replied ignorantly.

"Who'd you think?", Craig retorted.

"Clara? Well, of course ... why wouldn't she... I like her_ too_"

Craig laughed. The time lord was like an adolescent schoolboy. "You know what I mean, Doctor. Even if she won't admit it, she likes you. And I can see you like her too."

He walked down the corridor, out of the control room, his final words echoing down through the control room and the Doctor's ears.

"Even if you don't see it."

The Doctor breathed a sigh of relief. What was wrong with him? He couldn't be falling for Clara. She was a human!

He convinced himself it would never work. The time lord and the woman twice dead.

But he couldn't resist the smile that crept to his lips at the thought of her name.

"Clara Oswin Oswald", he said out loud.

He pulled a dial on the TARDIS panel, and hung his head back in the air, smiling all the time.

"Clara Oswin Oswald... WHO?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

NEXT CHAPTER: AN UNEARTHLY VISITATION

**HIYA EVERYONE! THANKS FOR YOUR REVIEWS ONE AND ALL. KEEP EM' COMING PLEASE! THANKS TO THE GUEST REVIEWER WHO MADE A REQUEST FOR THE STORY. I SHOULD TELL YOU ALL, THIS ISN'T REALLY A REQUEST STORY, BUT SINCE YOU ASKED SO NICELY (AND BECAUSE I WAS GOING TO ANYWAY), I'LL TRY AND GET YOUR REQUEST IN SOON! **

**ANYWAYS, THANKS AGAIN, WHOUFFLE AND WHO FANS ALIKE.**

**THIS IS SLYVSCLOCKWERK, SIGNING OFF.**


	4. An Unearthly Visitation

"Oi! Quiet down, you!", Clara exclaimed as the TARDIS let loose with another loud groan as she entered the vast library.

She should be used to it by now, but it still annoyed her every time the Doctor's time machine made its feelings clear about her. She didn't understand what the TARDIS had against her, but didn't let it get to her too much.

She found her normal seat in the Classics of Literature section, and turned to face the steep sided bookcase to her right. She paused as the interface lit up before her eyes.

"What will it be today, Clara?", spoke the blue light in a calming dulcet voice.

Clara brushed the hair out of her face, and said "Well, I've finished all of the Agatha Christie novels in which, by the way, anyone could have seen the ending coming. So, give me something random. But awesome!", she said, aware of how much of a geek she sounded but caring very little.

"Very well", chimed the interface.

There was a loud groaning as the bookshelf began to rearrange itself, the shelves restructuring, books flying up and down like they had wings. Clara gave an excited giggle. The magical sight and feel of it got her every time. At last the shelves finished reassembling, and a book floated out to her, which she grabbed.

She read the cover. "'Living with the Sphere' by Ood Sigma Delta 113?", she said, smiling at the oddity that she held in front of her. The cover depicted a strange alien with tentacles hanging out of its mouth and a white glowing orb in its right hand. Clara didn't find that strange (she'd read many books by aliens and was not prejudiced), but what was peculiar was that the alien was also taking a sip from a mug of tea that was engraved 'Dad of the Year 4013'.

She shrugged and went to sit in her chair, but as her bottom made contact with it, without warning it was suddenly moved, and she fell on her bum hard.

She cried out "Ow!", and scowled at the chair. If she didn't know better, she could have sworn she heard a strange sort of laughter from one of the TARDIS' sensory nodes. She ignored it, stood up, and pulled the chair back towards her, and sat down.

She crossed her left leg over her right, and allowed herself to relax and get comfortable. She felt her muscles relax, the tension of the day floating out of them like a river through a creek.

She opened the book in her hand, and flicked to page one. As she began to read the first words on the page, she was momentarily stunned to see the words seemingly float off the page and into her eyes. She laughed softly. The Doctor had mentioned these kinds of books, 'holo-books', he called them. In order to experience books in a new way in the 25th century, they had been invented to literally plant the words in her mind, and create mental images as she read.

She found it odd at first, but wasn't going to complain.

She loved to read. Ever since she was a little girl, she'd loved to read adventures about pirates, and aliens. She'd especially loved the ones where the protagonists went on an adventure She'd just never thought that she would one day experience an adventure of her very own.

She'd been in seventh heaven ever since arriving on the TARDIS and finding the library on her first day. She always came here after an exciting day, to unwind, and be alone with her thoughts.

The picturesque silence that surrounded her was golden. She felt her skin prickle as she relaxed to the gentle hum of the engine.

She giggled as she read a sentence in her book she found amusing, even if it was an alien's sense of humour rather than her own.

Minutes in her perfect world turned to hours, and soon Clara found her eyelids drooping. She sighed, and closed the book, some one hundred pages in. She was really enjoying it, but it would have to wait for now.

She stood up slowly, and gave a deep yawn, stretching her arms over her head. She put the book back on the shelf where she'd found it, and turned to leave.

She almost shrieked as the room was suddenly plunged into darkness. She couldn't see a thing, and the silence all around her was no longer enticing, but ominous.

She began to feel her way to the bookcase, almost tripping up in the dark.

She couldn't understand why and how the lights had gone. The TARDIS was a _time machine, _so she was pretty sure it didn't run on mains electricity.

Her fingers touched a bookcase, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she began to feel her way towards the exit along the path she knew so well.

All of a sudden, she screamed as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She jumped back and fell over onto her back. She began to crawl desperately in a random direction.

Then the lights were turned back on, and Clara found herself up against the back wall. Her breathing was quickened, and her heart was racing. She stood up and looked all around her person.

But the owner of the hand was nowhere to be seen.

Clara took a deep breath, and found herself whispering "It was only your imagination, Clara. Calm down".

She cautiously but briskly walked up the steps and out of the library.

Arriving in the corridor, Clara thought about calling for the Doctor on the intercom on the wall. But then she pictured his smug face as she explained to him that she 'was scared' and wanted him. She shook the image from her mind.

She was not that _easy_.

Clara walked hurriedly down the winding passageway, until she found her room, marked by the insignia of a maple leaf. She had requested the image on her door. A reminder to her leaf , the most important leaf in human history, to which she had lost.

She pushed open the door, stepped over the frame, and closed the door behind her.

Now inside her room, Clara began to relax again. She _must _be playing tricks on herself. Everything was fine.

She brushed her teeth and flossed in her private bathroom, which had towels imprinted with the initials CO in gold writing.

She had felt more special than ever before in her life when she had seen the quality of the room the Doctor had set up for her. She had thanked him, of course, but didn't go into lengths about just _how_ grateful she was for the absolutely perfect accommodation.

As she spat the last remnants of the minty paste into the basin, she paused to wash her face over with cold water.

Clara watched the water drip from the end of her nose and splash into the filled sink.

She noticed how much make-up she was wearing, and convinced herself she definitely _wasn't_ out to impress the Doctor. Definitely NOT.

A sudden movement behind her in the reflection of the mirror caused Clara's pulse to quicken, but as she franticly turned around, she once again found herself looking at nothing.

She ran her hands through her long brown hair, and breathed deeply. She was so _on edge _tonight. she needed to calm down.

Clara turned off the bathroom light, and settled into her velvet duvet. Her bed was so unbelievably soft, she always found herself sinking into it like a camel on quicksand. Once again, she had the Doctor to thank for spending a fortune on the Light Matter mattress which she lay on. She silently thanked him. She owed him a lot. He was very kind to her. More than any other man she had ever met.

She smiled, and her eyes closed. Soon, she was adrift in the land of dreams.

**_"Clara."_**

Clara awoke with a jolt, separated from the wonderful dream she ahd been having, which she was unashamed to admit had involved the Doctor in Speedos.

She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She had heard it, for sure. A voice, soft but unnervingly so in nature. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw flickers of movement in the corner of the room. She would have put it down to her mind, but then the same voice spoke again, making her blood run cold.

_**"Clara Oswin**_** Oswald"**, it spoke, a disembodied voice that despite having no mouth, sounded like it was right there with her in the room.

"Who are you?", Clara asked the invisible speaker. The panic was rising in her voice. She hated being afraid, but she was overwhelmed by an undeniable fear in that very second.

Silence followed for a good few seconds, before her unidentifiable tormentor replied. "_**Who I am is unimportant. You should be asking yourself the same question, Clara Oswald.**_**"**

The voice was terrifying her, but Clara, ever the defiant one, spoke back to it, determined to hide her intimidation. "How do you know my name? What are you? Where are you?"

A terrible laughter rang out through the room, a sound reminiscent of two broken pieces of china being rubbed together. "**_So many questions from the little girl. But you and I both know that there is only one question in all of time that is important that you ask, don't we, Clara?"_**

Clara began to shake unstoppably. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead. She suddenly felt unnaturally unwell, a queasiness in her stomach threatening to rise and burst from her lips.

_**"I can sense your fear. It smells like petrol, and old eggs. Why are you so afraid? Why don't you try and hide?"**_

Clara rolled out of bed and addressed the voice directly. "If I am the one who is afraid, then why don't you show yourself? Afraid you can't take on an unarmed girl in fisticuffs?"

More grating china. The voice sounded incredibly tickled by her bravery. "_**I can crush you like a twig any time I like. A fight is not what you wnat, for I have no corporeal form, and yet, I am every kind of form imaginable."**_

Clara piped up, adrenaline rushing through her, numbing the fear. "Why can't I see you?", she asked, twisting around to try and identify the owner of the voice.

_**"Because there is nothing to see. I am everything, and nothing. I have no body, but I can take the shape of anything. If a face is what you want, then I will bind myself to a form that will bring out your fear"**_

Clara frowned, confused. "Speak English, please", she retorted, a new confidence rising in her. It didn't last long, however.

Her bedside light flickered as the shadows from all around her began to draw themselves in, as if attracted by magnetic force.

As she watched, frozen in terror, the shadows began to wrap themselves around an invisible figure standing a few metres in front of her. The outline of its body made it look humanoid in appearance, but Clara was certain that it was anything but.

At last, the manifestation was complete, and a faint figure stood before Clara. It was barely visible because it was only a few shades blacker than the darkness itself. Its 'arms' hung at its sides. The figure was as close as anything could get to looking unearthly.

Clara tried to speak up to dispel her fear, but found no sound in her throat. She was unable to move, and stood rooted to the spot as the figure watched, a ghastly sight especially since it had no eyes to watch with.

At last, a familiar voice emerged from the figure. _**"Are you afraid, Clara Oswin Oswald? You are. You stink of it. 95% of all human beings are afraid of the dark. An irrational fear, they say. The dark cannot harm you. Or so they thought.**_

Without warning, one of its tendril-like appendages shot out at Clara, extending without limit. It crashed right through her stomach, and carried on through. Because it was made of shadows, it caused no damage. But the pain was unbearable, like a needle pushed through the soul itself.

Clara screamed in pain, doubling over as the tendril wriggled around inside of her. Tears glistened in her pretty hazel eyes, and rolled down her cheeks. She started to sob heavily. "Please! Make it stop, please", she cried. She was a pitiful figure, and her usually bright eyes were extinguished by the blackness.

The tendril was withdrawn, and Clara fell to her knees, sobbing like a newborn.

"What... do you want.. from me?", she gulped between wrecking heavy sobs.

_**"You have given me more than enough for now, Clara Oswin Oswald. You have shown me the power of fear. The truly limitless and untapped potential of the human mind as its own tormentor. Remember this, in the darkest of nights, in the coldest of winters. The Doctor can't help you. No'one can. No'one is coming to save you."**_

Then the shadowy figure was gone, dispersed into the air. Clara found her legs again, and hobbled weakly to the intercom on her wall.

She coughed heavily into it, and sobbed "Doctor... please.. Doctor.. please help.. me..."

She lost the will to stand again, and fell to her knees. She had never felt so alone, or helpless. She wrapped her head in her arms and cried heavily, hot tears rolling down her cheeks.

After a few minutes she heard thunderous running and the Doctor burst in to her room. His face was one of great concern, which only increased when he saw his beautiful companion in her intense state.

He ran over to her and pulled her up into his arms. She submitted without resistance to his warm and comforting touch, crying into the fabric of his shirt.

The Doctor whispered and soothed her gently. "Its okay. It's okay, Clara. Nothing's going to hurt you. I won't let anything hurt you". He stroked her hair comfortingly, and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. He wiped her hair out of her face, where it was plastered from her tears.

He looked right into her brown eyes, and she looked straight into his. He gave her one of his biggest smiles.

"It's okay, it was just a dream. It's over, now, shush, it's going to be okay", he whispered to her soothingly.

She gave him the slightest of smiles, suddenly aware of how ugly she must look in her state. She pulled out a tissue, and tried to clean her self up.

The Doctor reached up held her hand to her face. "Clara. You don't have to hide anything from me. I care about you."

Clara tried to give him a smile that indicated her mutual feeling, but found it impossible. She just sniffed, and fell into another hug. She could've stay there all day.

The Doctor stayed with her until she was calm, and offered her his bed for the night.

"It's completely safe in there, I promise. I'll take your bed. It's not a problem!"

Clara was overwhelmed by feeling for this man. He was so kind, and she had no way of repaying him. Instead, she rather feebly nodded, to which she responded by taking her hand in his his, and leading her out of the room.

As they left, neither heard a final comment from Clara's unseen tormentor. It chose not to appear as a shadow, but hung in the air, like the impossible being it was. Its voice, a cold and calculating demeanour, it spoke in a way that captured its great amusement, and its hunger for power.

_**"Soooooooooooon"**_

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**NEXT CHAPTER: EGGS**

**So then, readers. We have ourselves an antagonist! If you enjoyed this chapter or any chapter, please leave a review. I couldn't ask for more from all of you wonderful people!**

**Until the next time, this was a SlyvsClockwerk story.**


	5. Eggs

When Craig Owens walked into the TARDIS room he was moderately surprised to find the Doctor already there, seemingly in the act of surfing the internet on his monitor in a restless fashion. The Doctor didn't seem to notice him, and he was muttering under his breath.

Craig coughed into his hand, and the Doctor's head shot up. His hand moved to the monitor, and he closed whatever he had been looking at.

"Good morning, Craig!" he cried, a smile growing on his face.

"Morning yourself. Doctor, have you been up all night?"

The Doctor didn't seem to understand his tone. "Yes. I've been cataloguing the blueprints for TARDIS heat compressors and re-ordering data packets."

Craig nodded to himself. "He's been watching porn," he said in a whisper that the Doctor couldn't hear. "So, what's for breakfast?"

The Doctor frowned. "Right, food. Humans need to eat. Clara usually takes care of this herself. Uhhh... Try the kitchen, two doors down the right in that corridor there!"

Craig nodded sleepily. He wandered down the corridor and opened a sturdy wooden door with the insignia of a spatula. The door swung open to reveal a spotless, shiny gourmet kitchen. Craig was not aware, but his mouth hung open.

"This is... amazing", he said in a small voice.

He walked over to the cooker, and was shocked out of his skin as a voice emerged from it.

"Good morning, Craig Owens. How may I help you?"

Craig raised his eyebrows. "Uh-huh. Okay, talking computer. I'll have... eggs?"

"Certainly", said the soft metallic voice. A light was lit on the cooker, and a frying pan was moved into place by a robotic arm.

"How do you like your eggs done? Scrambled, fried, poached, boiled or atomized?" chimed the interface.

Craig pulled a face. "Well, certainly not that last one. I'll have them poached, please."

Two eggs fell into place in the sizzling pan.

Craig looked at the cooker. "Uh... you need any help, there?"

"Your help is not required, Craig. I am here to serve."

Craig nodded a silent reply. He turned as a drooping Clara wandered into the kitchen and sat herself down at the wooden table.

There were bags under her eyes, and her hair was messed up. Her eyes looked sleepily up at Craig.

"Good morning, Clara" Craig offered. In response, she yawned loudly.

"Is it?" Clara replied snappily. "Sorry," she apologised a few seconds later. "I had trouble sleeping, so the Doctor let me sleep in his bed. Suffice to say, it was not as luxurious as I had hoped. Not to mention the TARDIS roused me at six in the morning with an ultrasound siren."

Craig looked puzzled. "I didn't get woken up by an alarm."

Clara shrugged and looked bitter. "Lucky you".

She stood up slowly and walked up to the fridge. She swung the door open, and reached her hand in, moments later returning with a strawberry flavoured yoghurt. She returned to her seat, a spoon in hand, and began to eat.

There was a ping and a robotic arm swung a plate of poached eggs on toast out to Craig, who hesitantly took it.

"Thanks", he said uncertainly.

"You are very welcome, Craig Owens."

Craig looked at Clara, who shrugged.

"Never been that friendly to me", she said quietly.

Craig joined her at the table, and began to eat his eggs. The Doctor poked his head around the door, followed by the rest of his be-suited body.

"Morning, all. Eggs? Really? ", he said incredulously at seeing Craig's meal.

Craig nodded. "Don't tell me you don't like eggs, Doctor?"

The Doctor wrinkled his nose. "They remind me too much of Sontarans", he said, as if his companions would understand his reference.

He sat down between Craig and Clara. He looked over at Clara with concern.

"Are you okay now?" he said softly. She nodded, but he could see she was anything but. He was unsure of whether he should try and cheer her up, but instead decided to get straight to business having decided he was too unpractised.

"Okay, gang," he said with a smile that was unusual for a person other than a 1200 year old Time Lord to have at nine in the morning. "What do you all want to do today?"

Craig looked divided. "Didn't we have something important to do?"

The Doctor's face darkened for a moment. "It's not time yet. If there's such a thing as fate, it hasn't caught up to me yet."

Craig and Clara exchanged a mystified look, waiting for the Doctor to elaborate. He did not.

"Well then, I want to see the Beatles", Clara said, folding her arms.

The Doctor smiled at her. "Of course. I did promise, didn't I? And I always keep my promises".

His eyes darkened as he remembered his promise to the young Amelia Pond. To return for her in a few hours. She'd waited twelve years.. A sad smile broke on his lips. "90% of the time."

Clara put her hand on the Doctor's knee. He had told about the Ponds, and knew that he would never be the same again because of the nature of their departure.

He looked over at Clara, and she returned his intense glance.

The Doctor placed his hand on hers without realizing it. Clara began to lean in towards him, and the Doctor broke out in a cold sweat.

But it was not to be, for even before they were halfway towards each others faces, the Doctor pulled away, and reached into his pocket, whipping out his psychic paper.

He opened it, and read its contents with wide eyes.

"Stuck on a Dalek war cruiser. Requesting immediate assistance" He read out loud as his eyes skimmed the pad.

Eventually he looked up at his watchful companions. Clara looked cheesed off at the ruining of yet another moment.

"Whats.. a Dalek?", Craig asked sheepishly.

The Doctor was no longer a happy-looking man at all. He stood up from his chair, and looked solemn.

"Demons in metal armour," he said in a way that insinuated a long and eventful past with them. "The most evil creatures in all of creation. The architects of countless schemes to exterminate all life in the universe. And someone's gotten themselves trapped on one of their millitary flagships!"

"Egg-sterminate?" Craig said jokily. The Doctor didn't laugh, however. His mind was elsewhere, his eyes motion and life-less.

He looked at his two friends who were looking completely out of action. But they made an effort not to show it. Clara stood up and looked firmly at the Doctor. Craig slowly paralleled the movement.

"Good thing you've got us then, isn't it," Clara said, smiling at the prospect of today's adventure.

But the Doctor wasn't having any of it. "No. Neither of you are coming."

Craig and Clara looked annoyed. "We're not just here as friends, you know Doctor. We can actually look after ourselves", Clara said angrily. Craig nodded. "You don't have to face this alone, Doctor," Craig agreed.

"This is different. Daleks are merciless killers. I won't take that chance with either of you!", The Doctor asserted. He looked grim as he continued "I've lost people, as you know. And some you don't."

His mind was run through by images of Rose, almost stuck for eternity with the Daleks in the void. Martha, who was almost converted into a human Dalek. Donna, who lost her mind trying to save the universe from them. And then Oswin, Clara's doppelganger from the Alaska, who had been captured and converted into a Dalek by the insane metal monsters.

"Besides, Clara, you're not in a good way right now. I'm not letting anything happen to you!"

Clara folded her arms. "I'm fine, Doctor! I'm not your property, you know! I knew that seeing the universe would be dangerous. I accepted that from the start! You can't tell us what to do!"

The Doctor suddenly exploded. "You'll stay here, and that's an order!"

Clara looked shocked, her eyes wide at his outburst. Most of all, she seemed hurt beyond words.

The Doctor, seeing this, made a move to try and apologise, but she backed away from him, leaving Craig in front of her. The sight cut the Doctor deeply, but he tried to stay in control of his emotion.

Craig looked annoyed, but he nodded, and reluctantly agreed to look after Clara in the TARDIS.

The Doctor smiled and thanked him. With one last look at Clara's hurting face, he swept from the kitchen, and ran to the control room. He pulled down on a long red lever attached to the console, and the TARDIS rumbled into life and was off through dimensions and galaxies once again. With one final rumble, the shaking ceased. A new destination awaited him outside of his doors. He paused as he reached them, and put his fingers in his mouth, and sharply whistled. A few seconds later, his metal dog had trundled up to him, and was looking up at him expectantly.

"Yes, master?", the little dog piped up in his adorable metal voice. The Doctor snapped his fingers, and the doors of his great time machine were flung open.

He smiled at his pet. "Its time for walkies!"

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**Next Chapter: Immortal Combat**

**Hiya everyone. Sorry for the shorter and less eventful chapter! It serves to bridge a gap between two adventures, and is the easiest kind of chapter to write in the midst of my exam revision. So I apologise if you were expecting more, but I promise the adventures resume next Tuesday!**

**Stay beautiful, everyone!**

**SlyVsClockwerk.**


	6. Immortal Combat

It was night. Or at least, Jack Harkness thought it was. But it was impossible to tell, as the cold and dark room he was sat chained inside was in perpetual darkness.

Next to him in the dark he heard a soft whimper. Celia was still in denial. Denial that she could have really gotten captured. Denial that she was a prisoner on a military warship.

Denial that was becoming impossible TO deny.

Jack reached out to the location of the sobbing, and, feeling a shoulder, moved to put his arm around it.

"It's okay," he whispered softly. "You're going to get out of here. I promise."

Her crying slowed a bit. The Time Agent was as charming as he was sensitive. He always knew how to cheer her up.

Celia sniffed, and lay her head on Jack's shoulder.

Jack didn't mind at all. Her soft touch was a nice way of forgetting their situation, and the dire circumstances from which it had arisen.

He closed his eyes as their faces appeared in his mind, as if to haunt him. The passengers of the Epiduxe who had thought they were heading out to see the Crystal Waterfalls of Balixia III.

The passengers who had instead been boarded and attacked by a ruthless alien invasion force.

Everyone knew their names. Everyone knew why they were so feared. They had just never thought it would happen to them.

The metal monsters. The soulless, empty husks. The most cunning and merciless military force in the known universe.

The Daleks.

Jack knew them well enough. He had experienced death (his only real experience of it) at their "hands". Suckers would be a better word.

They had tried to rebuild an empire from an insane emperor's plans, by harvesting humans to re-populate their flagging ranks. Jack, along with Rose Tyler, and the Doctor had stopped their nefarious plans, but at a cost: Rose had nearly destroyed herself by absorbing the heart of the TARDIS.

He still remembered the intense white light that breathed life back into his body. The power of the time vortex.

And ever since that day, he had never stopped living. Never could. Rose had revived him at the ultimate price. He was now immortal, incapable of dying.

It was the only way he had survived the Daleks' fierce torture. They had scalded his bare flesh, tried to break his arms. They had asked him questions. Questions about the Skasis Paradigm.

Jack knew of it, of course. Whoever had control of it had the power of the universe in their hands. Or suckers.

He knew what it could do. But whatever knowledge he had of it, he certainly was never going to put in the insane reach of the Daleks.

It was times like this when he missed his Torchwood team. Especially Ianto Jones. Unlike Jack he was never coming back.

He also missed the Doctor. Last he had seen him was on this very cruiseliner, on the first week they had set out. He had introduced him to Midshipman Frame, a relationship sadly short-lived after the Daleks arrived. They had taken him elsewhere, and Jack had not seen him since.

His chains felt especially rough at night-time. They dug into his skin, and left marks.

He never slept, despite the growing tiredness growing on him day-by-day.

Even so, he felt his eyelids drooping slightly. With Celia on his shoulder, Jack felt more relaxed than he had been for the many weeks if his capture.

Maybe just once... Maybe he would sleep tonight.

But then there was a metallic clang and a door opened. A soft white light poured into the room to dispel the darkness.

Jack squinted at the sudden change in light intensity. Through his wrinkled eyes, he could just about make out a solitary blue light staring back at him.

It was the eye of a Dalek. To many, the sight of the blue light in the dark encouraged terror. But Jack was accustomed to it. For his hatred of the Daleks was stronger than his fear.

A whirring sound signalled the movement of the Dalek into the cell.

Jack felt Celia scrunch up in fear, and he tightened his hold on her.

The metal warden spoke in the distinct manner of the Daleks, lights on its head illuminating its dome-shaped head.

"You will come with us!" the Dalek commanded.

Jack smiled defiantly. "I'd love to, but I find it pretty hard to walk in chains!"

The Dalek was unconcerned. It barked further orders.

"You will come with us! Now! Supreme Dalek Javiak demands your presence in the Courts!"

Jack pretended to co-operate. "Well thats okay, then. If it's Javiak!"

He stood up slowly, every muscle in his body aching after a good twenty-four hours on the hard stone floor.

He nodded solemnly to Celia, who looked tearful again.

"Please! Don't leave me here!" she cried.

The Dalek piped up, not even bothering to conceal its great annoyance.

"The female will be silent!"

Jack turned angrily to the Dalek.

"Her name is Celia!", he shouted. He shot Celia a look that said 'I'll be back, don't worry', then followed his Dalek captor from the cell.

The door swung shut, plunging the cell back into pitch black.

Celia lay her head back, and began to sob again.

(-Interlude-)

Daleks were not fans of interior decoration, Jack had noticed. The corridors that ran throughout their ships were barren tin cans. But they served their purpose, and Jack doubted that the Daleks cared at all about it.

But he had many a trivial thought as he was led down the winding labyrinths that made up the bowels of the ship.

He has walked this path many times, and he knew, as he reached a large metal doorframe guarded by two golden Daleks, that the courts lay before him once more.

He followed his Dalek captor through the doors, and found himself inside a giant circular room that held the appearance of a modern day Earth courtroom, but with sinister modifications.

At the centre of the room was a circular booth, with metal tiles for the flooring that bore the image of a skeleton.

Red banners with the words 'Skaro' in Dalek dialect hung from the walls. Metal pillars and columns dotted around held up the huge auditorium structure, where countless Daleks of every rank imaginable were 'sat' watching.

Jack felt the change in the air as thousands of eye stalks revolved to follow his journey to the centre of the room.

He climbed inside the booth, and stood up straight, ever the brave Time Agent the universe knew so well.

There was eerie quiet, and then a rusty, deep voice from a platform above began the hearing.

"The Courts of the Daleks is now in session," the voice shrilled loudly."The human will speak. Speak!"

Jack smiled and looked up at the red and gold Dalek which was speaking to him. Dalek Javiak. Only the most important Daleks had names, but Jack was not getting the feeling that he should respect this Dalek over any other at all.

So he wasn't going to take this situation seriously.

"Hello!" he shouted cheerily. "I love what you've done with the place! Matches your eye!"

Javiak was not amused, because he had no emotions.

"Report the status of the Skasis Paradigm!" he said.

"I have nothing to say to you, Dalek Jay," he said mockingly.

Usually these hearings lasted mere minutes, then Javiak would get bored of him and send him off to be tortured.

So he was genuinely shocked when they tried a new tactic, with a screen overlooking the court flashing on to reveal the image of Celia, lying down in their cell.

Javiak spoke again, finding newfound confidence and menace from their leverage to the situation.

"You will tell us the secret of the Paradigm, or we will turn up the temperature and incinerate this girl. You have sixty rels!"

Jack felt pretty small standing in that booth. Daleks had to smarten up eventually. They'd worked out that whilst he held his own life in disregard (mainly since he could not die) that he was weak towards the life of another he cared about.

He had sixty seconds to answer. Sixty seconds to tell them he did not have the answer.

The Daleks were desperate. They were in disarray, trying hopelessly to solve the Paradigm. For what reason, Jack was uncertain. But he did see that these Daleks were not the military force the universe feared.

He spoke out, trying to delay the inevitable.

"Let her go, then I'll tell you everything I know!"

"Negative. We do not comply with human orders. Thirty rels!"

Jack ran his hands through his hair. He felt utterly useless. He just wanted the image of Celia burning in his head to leave him, but it was getting stronger by the second.

So if it weren't for the divine intervention of the materialisation of the best-known Police Telephone box in the universe, he would have melted inside.

Despite the situation, a huge smile broke on Jacks face. He began to laugh at the combination of the roar of the TARDIS engine and the screeching voices of the panicking Daleks.

With a final whirring, the blue box was solidly next to Jack. The doors swung outwards, and a tall man who Jack did not recognise (and yet instantly did) sporting a black tuxedo and bow tie stepped out.

"Doctor?" Jack asked hopefully.

When a smile crept over the man's lips too, Jack knew his assertion was correct.

"Captain Jack Harkness, you beauty!" the Doctor cried, pulling his old friend into a hug.

Comically, he was yet to notice his surroundings.

"It's been far, far too long!" he said cheerfully.

Jack laughed. "Maybe then you should have paid me a visit sooner!" he said, waving his arms to try and indicate the present situation.

The Doctor still didn't notice until Dalek Javiak spoke out.

"Exterminate the transgressor!"

The Doctor was suddenly aware of everything. He looked around sheepishly as thousands of super-charged death rays were aimed in his direction.

"Ah!" was the only word he could muster.

(-Interlude-)

"Nice try you old sow!"

Clara smiled cheekily as the interface moved its bishop out of the firing line. She had been anticipating the move, and knew exactly how to counter it.

She had been alone in the games room for some time. At times like this she preferred her own company. She was still reeling from the Doctor's outburst. The fire that had lit in his eyes in that heated moment scared her more than anything else.

There were more layers to this man than planets in the sky.

She was upset, but she knew the Doctor had her best interests at heart. Still, she hated his stubbornness. They may have been travelling companions for many months now but she could tell the Doctor had been travelling exponentially longer alone.

She needed him with her. She needed to tell him about her nightmare. Her nightmare which she was almost certain she had experienced while conscious.

The Doctor was the only man in the world Clara trusted with the inner workings of her mind. No offence to Craig, but she had only just met him.

Clara was suddenly aware of a cold wind blowing down her back. Her spine tingled with discomfort.

Abandoning her game, she lifted the pool cue from its rest on the green table, and held it level to her gaze.

The silence unnerved her. She could hear her own breathing.

Her blood ran cold as she saw a shadow walking through the door.

She shut her eyes tightly and gripped the cue hard.

But it was only Craig, returning from his hike around the storage decks. He was chewing on a packet of Haribo as he walked up to her.

He instantly noticed her discomfort, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"What's the matter?" he asked concernedly.

She shook her head. "I'm fine. I just thought you were..."

She paused, unsure how to finish. Craig removed his hand and sat down in a yellow lounge chair.

He outstretched a hand holding a bunch of gummy bears.

"Want some? When I'm stressed out, these always calm me down!"

Clara gratefully accepted the sweets. Popping one into her mouth, she leant back in her chair.

"So, how did you meet the Doctor then, Craig?" she asked, curious now rather than tense.

Craig looked thoughtful. "Seems like ages ago now! He just showed up on my doorstep one day in response to the advert I placed for a lodger. He was carrying about ten grand in a paper bag!

Clara laughed. "And then what?" she asked, eager to hear the story.

Craig shrugged. "Well, you know the Doctor. He was really there to investigate weird happenings in the upstairs room of my flat."

"Alien happenings?" Clara said, arching her eyebrows.

"Yeah. What else? So, basically he was ruining my life! He outplayed me at football, bested me in my job and I even caught him talking to a cat!"

Clara was nodding in response, but her mind was elsewhere, fixated on the image of the Doctor in full athletic mode. She smiled to herself.

"But for all the annoying stuff he did, he taught me one very important lesson. He got me round to confessing my love to Sophie, my girlfriend, which I'd been afraid of doing for four years before he came!"

Craig looked straight at Clara, teeth gnawing on a cola bottle.

"He taught me to man up and tell her how I felt. Even if he didn't know a thing about human relationships!"

A sly smile broke his lips. "And now I want to return the favour for you two."

Clara blushed bright red. She started to stutter, trying to deny to hide the feelings.

Eventually she gave up, sighed and looked embarrassed.

"Is it really that obvious?" she said softly.

Craig laughed. "More obvious than the impossibility of this room!"

Clara looked down. "But he's... an alien! I mean, I'm not prejudiced or anything, and I won't deny that I fancied Spock in Star Trek when I was younger, but..."

She started to swing her legs to avoid looking up. "I just... I've never really done this before... Not with any guy, Time lord or otherwise..."

Craig whistled. "Well... You were a Trek girl..."

Clara threw him a look. Then laughed sheepishly.

"Oh... I don't know... Shut up!"

Craig grinned. "I'm just saying is all. The Doctor needs someone, because you can see it, underneath all that bravado. He's a lonely, lonely man."

Clara nodded. She had seen it. The Doctor had been alone for a long time. And every fibre in her body wanted to change that.

"K9, Now!" the Doctor yelled as the room full of Daleks echoed with cries of "Exterminate!"

"Affirmative!" K9 replied.

Just as the first of the death rays was fired, a blue sphere opened around the trio, converting the lethal plasma into atoms.

Jack laughed with the joy of being alive. The Doctor petted K9 on the head. "Good dog! Brilliant dog!"

K9's ear nodes waggled at the praise.

On his 'throne' Javiak was growing impatient.

"The trespasser is irrelevant! Incineration in ten rels!"

Jack turned to the Doctor, panic once again rising in his eyes.

"Please, Doctor! Help her!" he pleaded.

The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver, and green light flashed from its tip.

The ominous countdown on the monitor ceased. The Doctor smiled triumphantly. Jack released the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding.

At last, the Doctor turned to face his arch nemeses.

"So then, Daleks. You've got courts now? If I didn't know you better, I'd say you were attempting to be civil!"

He barely concealed the loathing he felt for his metal adversaries.

"But I do know you better! Daleks don't need courts, because you only deliver one verdict, don't you!"

A heavy frown creased his forehead. "Because every living thing is guilty simply for the crime of living, by a Dalek's philosophy!"

Javiak called out, intending to restore the control of a situation he was quickly losing.

"State your intent!"

The Doctor stared right back at the emotionless eye of his enemy. "I'm the Doctor. I'm here to help."

He had been expecting an uproar of hatred at the mention of his name. But Javiak's soulless blue eye didn't blink. Mainly because it couldn't. But also because his name had no effect on it.

The Doctor silently thanked Oswin Oswald. Or Clara. Or both. He silently thanked them both, because he was uncertain. He knew he owed one of them.

Because of them, not a single Dalek in the room recognised their mortal enemy.

"Ranks are of no importance on a Dalek ship! State your name! Speak!", Javiak screeched coldly.

The Doctor stared back at the Dalek, unintimidated. "The Doctor! Don't you have ears? Actually, don't answer that."

Javiak held his gaze. "Doctor Who?" it replied menacingly.

The Doctor smiled. "Oldest question in the universe. And the most dangerous!"

He turned around slowly, as if counting the number of Daleks he was about to fell.

"I get the impression by the end if this meeting you'll be finding a new dictionary definition for that name."

Without warning there was a strong magnetic burst and the Doctor was flung on his back. He looked around, and realised with a panic that the cause of the disturbance was the Daleks polarizing his TARDIS. The great blue box was pulled up and through a hatch in the roof. The Doctor turned stood up and issued a bold warning to the Daleks.

"My friends are on that TARDIS. If a single one of them is hurt, I will destroy every last one of you".

Javiak stared, unaffected by his strong words. "The TARDIS will be clamped to prevent your escape, Doctor."

He had been studying his surroundings, and returned his gaze to Javiak to share his findings.

"This isn't a Dalek empire in its prime, is it? You're all getting desperate, panicking and torturing innocents in your fear!"

He gestured up at the screen, where the picture displayed on it showed Celia huddled in the corner of her cell.

"Its pathetic, really. The universe's most feared warriors. Reduced to scared children."

"Exterminate this heretic!", Javiak said in a commanding voice.

A solitary laser beam was shot out at the Doctor from the surrounding Dalek hordes. But he didn't even flinch as the beam was scattered as it impacted on the blue energy shield that surrounded them. The most dangerous weapon in the universe was reduced to the power of a water pistol.

The Doctor began to pace, looking annoyed. "It's very rude to exterminate someone while they're talking you know!"

He looked up at Javiak, fire burning in his thousand-year-old eyes.

"Whatever insane scheme you've got going here was born from fear. But what would spook the Daleks? What would make you abandon your principals and fall into military disarray?"

He stared directly into the Supreme Dalek's solitary eye.

"Whatever it is you're doing here, it stops right here, and right now!"

The Time Lord and the Dalek both stared each other down. Neither would back down. Both a bull waiting for a glimpse of red.

But then a new voice broke the silence.

"He is correct, Javiak. The prisoners will be released. Your plans will be terminated."

The voice was admirably defiant, and full of an unidentifiable energy unlike anything the Doctor had heard before.

But those weren't the most shocking or definitive features of the voice, however.

Because the voice was coming from a Dalek.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**Today is the two-week anniversary of the beginning of this story. So, without getting all sentimental I just wanted to thank the huge (and constantly growing) hordes of followers and favouriters so far. You're all awesome, and you make this story nothing less than a pleasure to write.**

**Have a wonderful evening.**

**SlyvsClockwerk**


	7. Alliance of the Daleks

Every eye and sight receptacle turned to look at the source of the voice. It was undoubtedly, a Dalek. As the packed court watched, a lone white Dalek wheeled itself into view from one of the side corridors.

The Dalek appeared to be very old, its metal casing an armour its fair share of battle wounds, scarring running down from the middle to the base.

If the Doctor didn't doubt the possibility of such a notion, the white Dalek had a distinct appearance of wisdom and knowledge.

It seemed the Daleks in the room were equally suspicious and confused about their unusual brethren. Javiak, whose eye stalk had followed the Dalek across the room with a clear animosity, piped up.

"Who let the prophet out from the dungeon?", it demanded fiercely, emphasising disgust in its metallic tones as it pronounced the word 'prophet'.

Nothing answered. The Doctor found even he had no words, and just stood dumbstruck as the unreal situation played out in force.

The white Dalek spoke again, its ancient-looking head nodes lighting up a faint white.

"You should never have been left in charge here, Javiak. True leaders of the Daleks are characterised by their ability to adapt to a situation. You are running outdated protocols, attempting to catalyse the problem rather than dissect it logically."

The Doctor couldn't believe what his century-old ears were hearing. A Dalek questioning orders? A Dalek attempting to find a peaceful solution? He was certain what he was seeing was a trap.

Javiak started making a strange croaking noise. Only when every Dalek in the room began to imitate it was the Doctor certain it was laughter.

"Then what does the insane bishop devise to be the solution? This abomination is barely alive! Clearly not a Dalek. We will not learn anything of use from its frayed CPU. We have been merciful so far, soothsayer. We've let your practises continue because they had no impact on the grand scheme of things."

Javiak's voice was growing more menacing by the second, even if the white Dalek was showing no sign of intimidation.

"But your heresy in the prescence of the Supreme Dalek heralds the end of such treatment. Mercy makes us weak."

And the next words the white Dalek muttered shook the Doctor down to his core.

"Mercy is a sign of strength. We can learn more through co-operation with other species. You, Javiak, are a relic of a bygone age. In order to ensure our survival, we must evolve!""

Its words echoed those of the transformed Dalek Sec human hybrid that the Doctor had encountered in 30's New York.

But this Dalek's words were having a stronger effect on the Doctor. This Dalek was still a Dalek, yet it was displaying signs of emotion.

Just one more impossible mystery to add to the Doctor's shopping list.

"Enough!" barked the Supreme Dalek. "You have betrayed the Dalek principals. You will be eliminated under maximum extermination."

The death ray attached to Javiak's middle rotated to point at the white Dalek, who was showing no fear of his imminent execution.

Not that a Dalek could show fear.

"Exterminate!" Javiak screeched, his nodes lighting up.

But before the lethal shot could be fired, the power in the room was cut, and darkness descended upon every corner.

The lights returned, and it didn't take long for anyone in the room to notice what had changed.

Where the monitor had previously displayed the image from the camera in Celia's cell, there was now the face of a young woman, about mid twenties. Her hair was long and brown and matched her eyes. Her lips were pursed in a broad smile.

The Doctor was annoyed, shocked and absurdly impressed all that same time.

He opened his mouth, and his tongue formed words. "Clara Oswin Oswald. You never cease to amaze me."

Onscreen Clara laughed lightly. The echo of an angel. "You Dalek boys and your toys. Way too easy to disarm!"

Javiak had not fired the executioners shot because he had not been able. His death ray was shuddering under the strain of being controlled by Clara.

The soufflé-making girl had done the seemingly impossible. She had hacked a Dalek.

In that moment, Clara Oswald was her counterpart Oswin. There was no doubt in the Doctor's mind that the two were connected.

She even looked like Oswin, sitting in a crimson dress in a leather-backed chair in a control room that flashed with lights and diodes.

She was in her element.

"Chin up, Time Boy!" the onscreen Clara remarked. "I've just saved the day once again! What are you waiting for, you lot? Run already!"

The Doctor laughed heartily. Captain Jack was laughing too, even though his understanding of the ingoing situation was limited.

"Oh, we will, Clara you genius!", the Doctor cried, already grabbing Jack's arm, sharply whistling to K9 and charging down the corridor away from the Daleks who were beginning to file out of the rows. "You just watch us run!"

(-Previously-)

Clara and Craig had been sitting in the games room swapping stories when the entire room began to shake intensely around them.

"So then, we found out that the WiFi was being manipulated by giant spoon robots, and-"

Clara was cut off mid-sentence as the huge tremor ran through the room. She screamed and gripped the arms of her chair so tightly the fabric ripped and stuffing emerged.

Craig's chair was sent over backwards by the shockwaves, carrying the yelling companion over and out of sight.

There was a horrific metallic screeching that pierced Clara's ears, and amidst the chaos she flung her hands to her head to try and block it out.

Then the shaking was over, leaving almost all the furniture in the Games Room overturned or destroyed, and papers fluttering throughout the air.

Clara stood up slowly. She grimaced at a sharp pain in her leg that had been caused by the chess table collapsing on her leg.

She gritted her teeth and hobbled over to Craig, who she found on his back, eyes wider than a black hole.

He took her hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. Brushing himself down, he turned around slowly, getting used to solid ground again.

"That wasn't me screaming, promise" he said eventually, failing to convince anyone.

Clara folded her arms. "Clearly the Doctor hasn't a clue what he's doing up there!" She took a deep breath, "I'm going to help!" she firmly decided.

Craig looked stupefied. "What? Are you crazy?"

Clara shook her head. "I'm not just going to sit down here while he loses control of the situation up there!"

She gathered her thoughts into one solitary goal: Find (and most likely have to save) the Doctor.

Her eyes drifted back to Craig, who couldn't have looked more out of place, arms hanging at his sides and breaths deep.

"You should probably stay here," Clara asserted quickly, "I wouldn't want to insult your manhood, but then I don't want to see you combust on your first time out."

Craig nodded with little pretence of reluctance. "Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I should probably defend the, uh... pool table."

Clara laughed lightly. "My hero!"

Craig smiled sheepishly and sat down slowly in his chair, as if expecting another quake at any moment. He crossed his legs and acted busy.

Clara took a long breath, trying to steady the butterflies that fluttered their wings in her stomach.

"You've got this Clara", she thought to herself. Suddenly an image of her mother appeared in her mind, smiling gently and whispering softly to her. "Whenever you're lost, I'll find you."

Clara hung on to the image, drawing strength from it, and with one last preparatory close of her eyes, she stepped through the TARDIS doors.

(-Moments Later-)

It took a few seconds after stepping out of the blue box doors for Clara's eyes to adjust to the light. Or more accurately, noticeable lack of.

The room she stood in was no Dalek courtroom. It was dank, cold and stunk of petrol.

Clara could hear the clacking from her shoes as she clambered slowly and carefully through her surroundings.

Eventually her hands fell on to a glass panel, and a loud wrenching indicated that a door had been opened.

Beams of light sprung into the dark, dispelling the dark.

Clara smiled smugly at her successes so far. The marvels of alien engineering were nothing before her skills.

She crept towards the opening in the wall where the light was emanating from. She stepped from the dark void into an equally architecturally unappealing hallway, this time with half-decent lighting.

Clara was surprised that no "Daleks" were visible along the corridor as she walked. She had half-expected to be captured the second she left the safety of the TARDIS. She was not ashamed to admit she was starting to feel confident.

She followed the passage along its winding, labyrinthine extent. Just as she was starting to grow irritated with the endless grey, she came face-to-face with a tall steel door.

Clara scanned the door for a means to enter. She spotted a computer-like panel on the left side. She approached it cautiously, and as her fingertips brushed against the screen, it flickered into life.

A on-screen prompt asked her to type (or sucker) in a five-numbered combination.

Clara cursed. It had all been going so well! But then it hit her. She had the prowess to hack the terminal, all thanks to Miss Kizlet's WiFi abduction!

Brushing her brown hair away from her face, Clara concentrated all her mental firepower into the computer.

As firewall after firewall fell before her, Clara let out a small but excitable giggle. Within mere seconds, she had the combination: 5-4-3-2-1.

She briefly entertained the idea of changing the passcode to 1-2-3-4-5 to be purposely annoying, but concluded that there wasn't the time.

Inputting the tricksy code into the terminal, Clara grinned and clenched her fists in triumph. The door hissed and creaked, and as she watched, it opened outwards from the middle.

Clara stepped into the new room quickly, before it suddenly closed behind her. She snapped around, and pounded her fists uselessly on the steel surface of the sealed door.

As she turned back around to face her new surroundings, she suddenly became aware of a cold tingling sensation running down her back. She swung around again and again, trying to identify the cause before it identified her.

She recognised the sensation. It meant very bad news for her. As if to confirm her deepest fears, a familiar deep voice rumbled from all around her.

_**"Very good, Clara Oswald. The Doctor would be proud that his underling has finally picked something up from him".**_

Clara bit the sides of her mouth, trying unsuccessfully not to panic. Distracting herself from the fear, she called out to the air.

"What the hell are you? What do you want with me?", she asked, feeling both helpless and stupid for being scared of an invisible enemy.

The entity did not reply directly to her question. _**"Silence. A most beautiful concept, do you not agree? Would it not be better for all to fall into silence?"**_

Clara was uncertain of how, or whether to, respond. She tried making a threat, feeling that she had to try and control her emotion.

"It doesn't matter why you're tormenting me. When the Doctor finds about you, we're both going to kick your arse!" She sounded more confident than she felt, but her faith in the Doctor and herself propelled her.

A loud echoing sound that was reminiscent of a yawn rang throughout the room in response.

_**"Yes. You still cling to your Doctor for strength. But tell me, Clara. Will he even believe you? He cannot see or feel my prescence unless I let him. He is powerless to help you."**_

Clara ignored the taunt. She moved to the centre of the room, and pulled out the pool cue she had concealed in her handbag. She waved it in the air, trying to ward off her attacker.

"Come near me again and I'll kick your head in!" she yelled angrily.

No response for a minute, and then _**"You never fail to entertain me, Clara Oswald. I'll be seeing you."**_

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The hairs on Clara's neck that had been on end fell flat again.

The shadow was gone. For now.

Clara breathed a sigh of relief. It felt like a weight had been lifted off if her chest. All of the distress she had felt moments ago dispelled.

She sat in the leather chair that occupied the space between where she was standing and a large computer terminal, not unlike the one she had dominated outside.

Clara flexed her fingers and cracked her knuckles. The shadow couldn't break her spirit. She would show it JUST how useful to the Doctor she really was.

And with those comforting last words to herself, she set to work.

(-Back to the Present-)

Jack's sides were aching as he, the Doctor and K9 rounded another corner in the identikit Dalek corridors.

His breaths came in huge gulps, and beads of sweat ran down his forehead and arms.

Eventually the last of his energy dissipated and he stopped, placing his hand on the wall and panting like a starved hyena.

The Doctor was seemingly unconstrained by the need to breathe, and he looked round at his companion in surprised annoyance that he had stopped.

"Come on Captain!" he cried. "Don't tell me you're getting too old!"

Jack smiled through his deep intakes. It was a joke between him and the Doctor, since Jack was immortal and incapable of ageing a second.

As his heartbeats reverberated through his ribcage, The Doctor took the moment to ask him about the situation.

Jack in turn told the Doctor about the capture of the Epiduxe, and his long imprisonment on the ship.

When he came to the Skasis Paradigm, the Doctor's forehead creased.

"Solve the paradigm and the universe is yours. It sounds plausible for a Dalek to want to solve the paradigm..."

He placed a finger on his chin and held the complexion of a man having a million thoughts at once.

"But they aren't stupid. They know that the statistical probability of ever correctly unlocking the paradigm is so low that the universe could have ended before they'd run through a tenth of the possible outcomes."

K9 trundled in, having caught up with the pair. The Doctor had upgraded him, but no so he could keep up with him. He would need far more batteries for that.

"So... They're desperate. Breaking rank and protocol to try and solve a problem facing them that they can't defeat through military strategy!"

Without warning he gave a sudden clap of his hands.

"This is rich! The Daleks are running scared! They've fallen into complete disarray, Jack! This is my chance to end them, once and for all!"

Jack wanted to ask why the Daleks didn't recognise him, but didn't wish to interrupt the Doctor in mid-exposition.

"Master," K9 piped up. "My sensors detect an array of satellite communicators ahead in fifty metres approximate. According to my friend-foe diagnosticator, the probability that this room is where Mistress Clara is broadcasting is 99.9%. Suggestion: we move to intercept it."

Jack admired the little robot dog. "We need one of these guys at Torchwood!" he proclaimed.

The Doctor shook his head. "K9's one of a kind. Well done, boy."

He gave the dog a wink and pulled out his sonic screwdriver, brandishing it to the artificial air of the dull grey corridor.

"What would scare the Daleks?" he asked no'one in particular, as if setting up a riddle for himself to solve later.

He certainly didn't expect an answer.

"What we do not understand" called a voice out of sight. As Jack and the Doctor watched, the white Dalek hovered into the space they stood.

"Don't come any closer!" the Doctor shouted, aiming the green-glowing tip of his screwdriver at the Dalek.

The Dalek did not move, as the Doctor requested.

Surprised his orders had been followed (by a Dalek of all things), the Doctor enquired as to his whimsical thoughts.

"So, what don't the Daleks understand then, huh? Love? Happiness? Compassion?"

The Dalek didn't respond.

At the sight of its non-cooperation, the Doctor began to lose his temper.

"Answer me, Dalek. What are you? A trick, a trap? How can you be self-conscious, after a millennia of Dalek 'perfection' to harden your CPU?"

The blue eyestalk stared lifelessly. At last, the rusted cyborg pepper pot answered.

"Cracks, Doctor. Cracks in time. In the universe. In this shape".

A holographic image materialised between the Doctor's outstretched arm and the Dalek.

The image was uncanny. There was no mistake, no doubt in the Doctor's mind as to what it was.

It was the crack in Amelia Ponds' wall. The crack that had appeared throughout all of time and space.

The crack he was certain that he had sealed.

His lips parted slightly as they formed rather feeble words.

"You're lying. You're telling me what you think would make me trust you."

The Dalek showed no sign of offence. The hologram it was projecting disappeared, and it continued to recount events.

"After the Asylum, the cracks began to appear in the empty space, and the infinity. Our fleets were consumed by them. We are in disarray because we are the sole survivors."

The Doctor listened cautiously. He looked up and right at the Dalek.

"I know you, don't I? You're the leader of the New Paradigm Daleks from WW2."

"Once," the Dalek agreed. "I was a great and powerful leader. I held rank aboard the Parliament. But then the cracks came. The most important Daleks struggled amongst themselves for leadership. We tried sending Daleks into the cracks, but they never returned".

"Idiots" the Doctor muttered under his breath. He had already guessed the next bit, if the story held true.

"And they made you look through the crack."

The white Dalek nodded. "I saw all of time at once. Every star that has ever burned, every constellation that has ever glistened. I saw - as Dalek Caan once saw - all of our impact on the universe. I saw how pathetic the Daleks were. I saw our unimportance."

"It must have torn your mind apart. The Supreme Dalek called you a 'prophet'. Seeing all of time has granted you the power of all-sight." The Doctor paused, his eyes indicating the serious implications of what he was saying. "Nothing should have that power."

"The Daleks feared it, and locked me up in the bowels of the ship. Javiak took full control, and initiated the plan. He believes with the key to the Skasis Paradigm that he can save the Daleks from the cracks."

Jack had been watching the discourse, and voiced his thoughts.

"And so now what? Are you saying you want to help us?" His eyebrows were raised, fingers flexing as if he was reaching for a gun he didn't have.

"Correct. I am now the only Dalek in the universe to know the Doctor, and the extent of his strength. He will purge the heretics, and close the cracks with no innocent blood spilt."

The Doctor walked over to his mortal enemy, and stood right up close to it, face to 'face'.

"Are you proposing an alliance? With me? I'll never trust you, Dalek."

"It is irrelevant. I have been shown the task I must complete. Once it is finished, I lay my life into your hands."

The Doctor scrunched up his eyes. He was having an internal battle. On one hand, his brain was telling him that the Dalek spoke the truth. But his primal instincts told him to never trust a Dalek.

They had, after all, exterminated his people mercilessly.

But he couldn't hold a grudge, could he? The Daleks may have survived undeservedly, but this one was pledging its life to a seemingly noble cause.

The Doctor believed strongly that any person could change the world. He had believed in Dalek Sec. There was always a chance of redemption for everything. Even Daleks.

His mother had taught him that.

So, that was how he came to reluctantly nod, and shake the white Dalek's arm in the centuries-old human gesture of trust.

"Okay. Okay. An alliance it is".

He turned away from the Dalek, his mind weighted by the sheer significance of the pact he had just made, and the possible ramifications it could have.

"For now," he finished softly.

**To be Continued...**

**Next Chapter: The Oncoming Storm**

**Thanks everyone for reading the latest chapter. I couldn't write without your positive influence :) As always, if you liked/disliked this chapter, please leave a review.**

**The Poll is closed. Thank you to all who participated. I will address the results in next weeks chapter!  
**

**Have a beautiful three-day weekend!**

**SlyvsClockwerk**


	8. The Oncoming Storm

And so it was that Jack found his feet once again pounding down the grey corridors of the Dalek Spaceship.

Him, the Doctor and a tiny robot dog. And a Dalek.

But he'd seen stranger days.

Despite sharp pains in his chest and calf muscles, Jack refused to stop. For, behind him he could hear distant but quickly-closing metallic cries of "Exterminate!"

Jack knew that if a Dalek uttered that word, there was only one smart option: Run.

"I'll bet you didn't miss this, huh?" The Doctor yelled as he ran ahead of the pack without any signs of fatigue.

Jack laughed breathlessly. "Are you kidding? Me, you... and corridors! Just like old times!"

The Doctor threw a glance to his old friend, a beaming smile parting on his face.

As he did so he missed seeing the end of the corridors, and turned his head back round too late to avoid colliding headfirst with a metal door in his path.

The Doctor fell on to his back over-dramaticly, legs kicking like a headless chicken.

"Oops! Sorry! I'll open the door now!", came the voice of the girl the Doctor had named Clara Oswald through an interface on the wall.

True to her word, the gate slid away, moments too late to save the Doctor's aching nose.

The Time Lord stood up slowly, straightened his bow tie, and stepped through the open door. Jack, K9 and the White Dalek followed suit.

Jack watched as a chair in the centre of their new surroundings was flung around to reveal a beautiful young woman with brown hair and hazel-wood eyes.

The woman's lips curled in a smile as she saw the Doctor.

She leapt out of the chair, and flung herself at him, throwing her arms around him tightly.

The Doctor uncertainly raised his arms to hold her back. They slid to the back of her head, and gently caressed her hair.

They broke apart after a noticeably long period of indulgence, and the woman gave the Doctor a light punch on the arm.

"Don't you do that to me again, Doctor!" she cried, her eyebrows curved with concern.

"I promise", the Doctor replied softly.

"Are you lying?"

"Of course", he added hastily.

"I hate you!"

The Doctor laughed warmly. The woman had noticed Jack standing in the background, and gave him a friendly smile.

"Hello there. Judging from your perfect good looks, I presume you're the one known as Clara Oswald?" he asked the woman, flashing his white teeth in one of his trademark disarming smiles. She nodded, and blushed at his compliments.

At seeing this, the Doctor felt a pang of jealousy in his gut. A feeling he was not used to. It made him feel nauseous and angry simultaneously.

"That's enough, Captain" he decided, giving Jack a dirty look. "We have a very pressing situation on our hands. This isn't the time for flirting!"

'Didn't seem to occur to him when he was doing it' Jack thought to himself. But he respected the Doctor, and noted that he should avoid flirting with Clara Oswald in the future should he want to remain friendly with the Doctor.

All of a sudden Clara noticed the Dalek that also occupied their space. The elephant in the room.

She started to panic, scrambling backwards, but the Doctor grabbed her hand and caught her eyes.

"It's okay," he said in a comforting tone. "It's with us" he added, notably sounding very uncomfortable at saying so.

The Dalek remained unreadable within its metal armour. It began to move towards the control panel where Clara had been sat.

"The human hacked into the ship's telepathic mainframe? Explain?!" it screeched, its eyestalk revolving to identify Clara.

The Doctor moved in front of Clara protectively.

"Don't you dare say 'human' like its a disease! You are nothing compared with them! You will never comprehend the full... majesty of what they can do. Humans can outwit the Daleks any day, at any contest!"

The Dalek stared back at the Doctor emotionlessly. If it understood any of what he had said, its blank expression didn't express so.

"Very well," it spoke eventually. "I cannot use the terminal because it will log me as a rogue element, and lock us out. We use symbiotic lock procedures to seal the lower decks. She must unlock the Prison Wards from here whilst you simultaneously bypass the terminal on that floor."

The Doctor looked deeply worried at the prospect of leaving Clara alone on a Dalek ship for another second.

"No. No! I won't lose her again, you hear me!"

Clara felt her insides ripple at the genuine concern the Doctor was displaying for her. She was irritated that he was being overly-protective of her, but a part of her was also deeply touched.

She spoke up. "Doctor, it's okay. I can handle myself for a little longer. You know me! I'm the boss!"

She put her hand on the Doctor's shoulder. He smiled at her, and she returned it instantly.

He sighed loudly, and a wave of reluctance creased his brow. But he wasn't arguing any more.

"Okay. But I'll be back for you in a few minutes, I promise."

The Dalek piped up again, keen to try and earn the Doctor's trust.

"I will guard her here, Doctor."

These words didn't exactly relieve the Doctor. He had made an alliance with the Dalek, but he was no nearer trusting it than ever before.

He stepped over to it, and lowered his head so he was looking right into its blue eye.

"Alright. But know this: If any harm comes to her, I will rip you apart myself. Piece... by piece."

He watched the Dalek for any indication of betrayal in its eye. Finding none, he stood up straight, and turned away.

"K9. You stay as well. If our new Dalek pal gets any ideas, you know what to do."

The robot dog nodded its head, making a creaky metallic sound.

"Affirmative!"

"Captain, you're with me!" the Doctor continued, patting his companion on the head in a non-patronising way.

The pair headed for the open door. Jack stepped through briskly, but the Doctor hovered momentarily, throwing a last look of longing worry at Clara, who smiled reassuringly.

"Don't worry about me! Go and kick some butt!" she yelled mischievously.

The Doctor gave her the thumbs up, tipped his invisible hat, and swept out.

(-:TFOTS:-)

Clara watched them go on her monitor and sighed quietly. She loved adventures, and the danger that they often posed, but it was no fun with a sense of mortal coil hanging over the proceedings.

She risked a look at the White Dalek assigned to protect her. It had its back turned, but she could see many scratches and scorch marks on its tattered shell.

A thought occurred to her that she tried to ignore, fruitlessly. She voiced it.

"Did they torture you? The other Daleks?"

Silence. The Dalek offered her nothing, perhaps out of contempt for her species, but Clara found it much more likely that it was honouring the Doctor's wishes to leave her alone.

"Ignore what the Doctor said," she called quietly. "I trust you, I know that you wouldn't hurt me!"

At least she HOPED it wouldn't. She was obviously bluffing, but she believed herself to be a good judge of character. Skaldak, Merry, the Doctor. Even the TARDIS, the grumpy old cow.

"He's way too protective of me. I don't need you to ignore me in order to guard me. I just wanted to know. I want to understand".

Her last words sounded pitifully pleading; not as she had intended, rather how she had began to feel mid-sentence when she suddenly called to mind her studies of Vietnam in her university years.

She had gotten the best marks because she could empathise with everyone who fought, regardless of race, belief or language.

The Dalek remained turned, but its headlamps glowed a faded white as it finally offered a reply.

"Yes", it spoke emotionless as ever, but perhaps with a little conflict mixing in.

Clara looked at the Dalek, and could not see a creature built from hatred or bitterness. If what she saw was a Dalek, she was sure that it was as far from being a murderous space Nazi as it could get.

In fact, despite the Doctor's warnings about the Daleks she found herself on her feet and walking towards the Dalek.

She felt its pain through its armour, and every cell in her body was telling her to comfort it. She couldn't help it. It was an injured person, and she would always try and help them. It was who she was.

She jumped out of her skin when K9 suddenly spoke out from the corner of the room. She had forgotten he was there.

"Mistress Clara, step back!"

Clara turned her head to the robot dog, and held out a hand to it.

"Its okay K9. Sit."

K9 did not show any sign of feeling patronised, its focus on protecting Clara.

"The Dalek is dangerous. Step away now!"

Clara ignored K9's warnings. How could they apply to the sorry beast that stood before her?

She was right behind the Dalek now. Hesitantly but determinedly she reached out her hand and placed it on the Daleks head.

She suddenly yelped and quickly withdrew her hand as an orange mark of her hand was imprinted on the Daleks head.

"Genetic material extrapolated, initiate cellular reconstruction!"

The Daleks body turned a full 360, its top half turning left and its bottom half meeting it after turning right.

Clara stepped back in horror, as the Dalek was coated in a blue magnetic aura, and was shocked to see all of the damaged parts of its armour heal themselves in mere seconds.

K9 fired a shot at the Dalek but it pinged off its blue shield.

Within the blue vortex the White Dalek was being reborn.

Clara felt like a complete idiot. What had she done? Had she sealed her own fate?

Finally the blue energy shield was dissipated, and where it once was stood the Dalek, no longer a rusted relic, but a fully-repaired soldier.

"Weapons systems restored. Targeting matrix online. Visual receptors at 100% efficiency."

Clara curled herself into a ball at the back of the room. She put her hands up to her eyes, and hid her face in mortal terror.

She thought of all the things that made her stronger: her parents, her friends. And the Doctor.

And she waited for the lethal shot.

(-:TFOTS:-)

The Doctor and Jack descended a long vertical ladder that lead into the bowels of the ship.

Jack went first, ever the headstrong Time Agent of old, and was pleased to have a good view of the Doctor's bottom from above as he shimmied down the ladder.

They reached the bottom, and a dim light flashed on. Their new surroundings were not the pristinely-kept if soulless corridors of above, but a messy, foul-smelling and half-lit cesspit of tangled cables and disorganisation.

"The Prison of the Daleks" Jack said solemnly. "My home for five months."

The Doctor didn't know how to respond, but felt incredibly guilty all-of-a-sudden.

"I'm sorry."

Jack looked at his friend, and shrugged hid shoulders.

"What for?"

The Doctor met his eyes. "For not coming sooner."

Jack laughed bitterly. "I'm lucky you even came at all! Most people don't have a dimension-travelling two-hearted friend to bail them out of jail."

The pair walked down the dark and musty-smelling passageway. The Doctor's shoes squished as he trod on a gooey pink mess on the floor.

He pulled a face and wiped his shoe fiercely on the wall, until there was red all over it.

Sticking his tongue out to indicate his disgust, the Doctor looked back at Jack, who looked equally revolted.

"Doctor..." Jack started. "Is that...?"

"Quite possibly"

"A brain?" he concluded, gagging at the thought.

"Quite possible, yes."

The Doctor crouched down and protruded his sonic screwdriver at the pinkish mess.

Upon collecting data, he nodded slowly and looked incredibly guilty.

"I'm sorry," he said in a soft and solemn voice. "I'm so, so, sorry."

"It's human. Male. About thirty years of age" he continued.

Jack's immortal heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be... could it? Not...

"Recently diseased judging by advanced state of decomposition." The Doctor was really getting into the forensic mood, as he took out a Sherlock-like magnifying glass and peered at the mess.

Jack felt bile rising in his mouth. "Doctor... Please... Tell me it doesn't belong to Alonso Frame?"

The Time Lord glanced up. "No, I shouldn't think so. Midshipman Frame was highly intelligent. This brain... is not."

How he could tell completely bypassed Jack. But nonetheless he was slightly relieved.

"Its... barbaric," the Doctor spat as he stood up. "And we're going to put a stop to it... Tonight!"

(-:TFOTS:-)

A million thoughts ran through Clara Oswald's head in the time she spent cowering in that corner. A million things she had always meant to do, but now might never get the chance to.

Grow a plant successfully. Get that job in I.T her dad had been trying to arrange.

Tell the Doctor how she felt.

How she'd always felt, ever since she'd met him.

She cursed the cruelty of life and prepared for the moment in which hers would end.

Seconds passed. And nothing. She opened one eye and peered out from behind her hands.

The Dalek was just sitting there. It was making no intention to attack her.

Clara rose to her feet cautiously, and yelled at it in a not-so-brave-sounding voice.

"What are you waiting for?"

The White Dalek raised its eyestalk and peered right at her. When it finally spoke, its voice was now much more warrior-like, yet retaining the new energy it had previously given off.

"The touch of a time traveller has regenerated me. I can now fight as a Dalek should. Thank you, Clara Oswald."

Clara didn't know it, but this was the first time a Dalek had ever expressed gratitude since their genesis.

"So... you're not going to kill me then?" she asked, careful to avoid sounding like a taunt.

"No. I have nothing to gain for my objective by killing you. I have made an alliance. I intend on keeping to it."

Clara breathed deeply and lay her head back against the wall. She felt elated that her life was set to continue, but also a subtle-but-nagging sense of guilt for being so quick to accuse the Dalek.

It was a stupid feeling. But she couldn't shake it. She wondered what the Doctor would think of her. Disgusted? Horrified? Betrayed?

She didn't get long to think about it because all-of-a-sudden K9 burst into life again.

"Incoming Daleks detected! Suggest I take them on directly!"

The White Dalek looked at the tin dog.

"We will take them together," it said, before turning to look at Clara. "You will stay here."

Clara wasn't planning to argue. She watched her protectors go, and awaited her fate, heart once again firmly in mouth.

(-:TFOTS:-)

The Doctor and Jack had reached the main level of the prison. It looked like the old English 'hospital' Bedlam, that the Doctor had visited in his tenth incarnation.

But a re-imagining of it, for the luminous Tungsten pylons that ran from the roof to the base were like nothing ever seen on Earth.

Completely alien. Completely insane. Dalek design all over.

As the duo wandered pass the cells, they noticed that most of them were empty. The first one that wasn't contained the woman that the Daleks had threatened to execute for information.

Jack was clearly very close to her, as he flung himself at the metal bars, clinging onto them tightly, and shouted.

"Celia! Celia, it's me! I've got help! We are getting OUT of here!"

There was a muffled response from within the cell. Jack looked concerned.

"Celia? What's wrong?"

The Doctor stepped hastily over to the cell, and stood next to Jack.

"Hello Celia!" the Doctor exclaimed. "Listen, I'm a Doctor. THE Doctor, actually, now you mention it. I need you to tell me what's wrong."

There was a strange gurgling sound. It sounded pained, but Jack could definitely make it out as Celia.

"Doctor, what's wrong with her?" Jack asked.

The Time Lord looked grim as he poked his sonic screwdriver through the bars and took a reading.

"She was fine, just hours ago! I spoke to her!"

The Doctor looked up, a great sadness in his old eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jack. But this woman has not been fine for a long, long time."

Jack felt acid in his gut. He couldn't properly process what he was hearing.

"You said the Daleks had been torturing you for information, once a day. Well, every time they've taken you, they've also experimented on Celia."

"No. Not possible," Jack said, flinching as his whole world collapsed around him.

"I am so, so sorry. But they have. This woman is in the final stages of Cerebral Mitosis. She won't last the night."

Jack fell to his knees. A hot tear rolled down his cheeks, the start of a downpour.

"I promised her," he whispered. "I promised her that she would get out, I-"

His voice was wrenched off as great tears of sorrow, frustration and bitterness flooded from his eyes. There were no words to say. He had spent months with only this woman for company. Now he was offered the chance to leave, and she could never have it.

The Doctor placed a hand on Jack's shoulder.

"We can still save her memory, Jack. Whatever did this to her is still down here somewhere. Cerebral Mitosis is caused by the use of unclean metal appendages."

Jack looked up at the Doctor through his tears.

"Then lets get that son of a-"

(-:TFOTS:-)

The White Dalek and K9 hovered into the corridor, and locked the door behind them.

The pair took positions on either side of the door, like beefeaters outside Buckingham Palace.

A few moments of eerie silence followed before two Daleks came into view at the other end of the corridor.

One of them the White Dalek knew too well. Javiak. The Supreme Dalek.

The other was a Special Weapons Dalek, a fierce-some tank of a Dalek used only for dire situations.

The odds were stacked against them, but at least now The White Dalek had the use of its weapons.

"So... the heretic has come to die!" Javiak said maliciously.

"You shall not pass, Javiak!" the White Dalek called.

Normally the Daleks did not banter before battle. But Dalek vs Dalek was a different matter. Despite being a heretical prophet, the White Dalek was still far more respected than any flesh enemy of the Daleks.

"With the Skasis Paradigm the Daleks could own the universe. Progress is evolution."

The White Dalek countered: "Progress is reevaluation. The Daleks will not survive without co-operation. We must become something new."

Javiak looked physically revolted, despite his true face being concealed deep within his armour.

"Enough! Your plague has spread for long enough. Exterminate!"

Javiak fired the first shot, which hit the White Dalek's shielding, lowering its efficiency to 50%

The White Dalek and K9 fired shots back. Javiak stumbled back as his shields were claimed.

"Protect me! Protect me!" he shrilled at the Special Weapons Dalek.

The SWD turned towards its enemies and fired a huge blast at K9. The robot dog deflected the shot with an energy shield, and fired back.

The Special Weapons Dalek had no visible weak-point, for it had no eyestalk. K9's shots hit it in the frontal metal plating, but had little effect.

"My armour is not impaired!" the SWD cried in a deep robotic voice.

"This unit suggests we combine our fire on the SWD's head dome!" K9 cried. The White Dalek nodded.

"Exterminate!" the SWD yelled, before letting loose with another huge wave.

The shot caught the White Dalek, tearing through his shielding and battering his new armour.

Through the intense searing pain, the White Dalek called out: "Now!", and fired at the SWD. K9 followed suit.

The first shot knocked the SWD back, the second pierced straight through its head, taking it clean off. The SWD fell still.

Javiak, realising the situation was quickly falling out of his control, began to turn and flee. But the White Dalek was having none of it.

"Javiak. You tortured me! Your end is now!"

Javiak was unable to get away in time to escape a direct blast to his exposed back plating. The armour groaned and exploded inwards, spraying sparks all over the floor and sending the Supreme Dalek off spinning.

"Assistance required!" Javiak cried as he hit the back wall.

The White Dalek calmly moved towards him until they were inches apart. Javiak looked up pleadingly at the Dalek.

"Mercy! If you spare me, I will reinstate you in the Dalek Parliament!"

The White Dalek just stared at the pathetic pleas of his race's finest. The cowardice of Javiak summed up his despising of the Daleks in general.

"Sorry, I thought mercy made us weak? One word Javiak. You know what it is," the White Dalek stated as it steadied its aim. "Exterminate."

A white light burst from the ray, sending white shockwaves up Javiak's armour as it hit. The Supreme Dalek yelled for a few seconds, and then was silent. Forever.

(-:TFOTS:-)

The sonic screwdriver whizzed as the Doctor pointed it at a large steel door.

"The terminal is through this door", the Doctor informed Jack. "Ready when you are."

Jack grit his teeth in the best smile he could muster in the situation and nodded.

The Doctor raised his foot and kicked the door hard. It swung open.

"Who needs sonic screwdrivers then, huh?" Jack joked half-heartedly as they walked into a strange kind of laboratory.

Racks of test tubes sat on filthy and cobwebbed surfaces. Jack gagged at an oesophagus that was lying on the table.

"This looks like the lab of Jack the Ripper" Jack remarked as his upper lip curled.

"Something's had a lot of time on its hands" the Doctor deciphered.

As they stood looking about themselves they heard a male voice scream in the next room. An insane robotic cackling followed.

The Doctor nodded to Jack and they hurried towards the sound. Pushing open the door, they were met with the sight of what appeared to be a sort of torture chamber, complete with Saw-like dim lighting.

Jack yelled "Doctor!" as he saw Midshipman Alonso Frame chained to a raised platform.

As they approached Frame he glanced up at his rescuers and muttered "Jack? Get out of here! Before it comes back! Go-"

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear!" whispered a robotic, unbalanced voice from behind them.

The Doctor jumped back just in time to avoid being scythed by a sickle-like appendage as it swiped towards him.

Its owner was of course, a Dalek. Or what was left of one. The Doctor had seen insane Daleks in the Asylum, but what stood before him now took the Jammy Dodger.

A rusted silver Dalek with its front blown open, revealing the tentacled controller inside. A makeshift arm had been grafted onto its side, and at its end was the blood-pelted, rusty scythe which had almost disembowelled him moments earlier.

"What the hell is this thing?" Jack asked as he backed away.

The Doctor, ever the tall-dark-stranger, did not back away. He brandished his sonic screwdriver like a knife, trying to ward away the abomination.

"So, there was a Dalek even more insane than the Prophet, then? Every Dalek on this ship was present in the court hearing, except you, and the White Dalek. The one thing you have in common? You're both considered too insane to be in their company."

He began to pace a little, lost in his thoughts, despite the urgency of the situation.

"An insane Dalek is the worst kind. So they make the best jailers, right? Except you've been experimenting on your charges, cutting them open, seeing how they work."

He looked at the thing that once resembled his worst enemies.

"You're sick in the head. You should be destroyed. Mentally balanced individuals don't leave brains lying around on the floor!"

The insane Dalek laughed. Its laughter was horrible, like a robot hyena/clown.

"The cutting. Yes! The squealing, the blood! Wonderful, yes! Hehehehe!"

Jack exploded at the creature. "You did it, didn't you? You experimented on Celia! You sentenced her to death!"

The Dalek cackled again. "The female didn't like us. It wriggled, and it fought! But we still cut her, didn't we? Hehaha!"

Jack had heard enough of the insane ramblings. He picked up a trailing cable from the laboratory floor, and, running at the Dalek, jabbed it straight into its metal casing.

The effect was instantaneous. The casing conducted the charge, in turn zapping the squid-like creature inside.

It screamed for a few seconds, then its eye closed and there was nothing.

"Her name was Celia Bowles. And _that_, was for her." Jack said coldly.

He dropped the cable, and felt his inner rage subside. The Doctor nodded his approval, but even he looked a little shocked by the ferocity of Jack's actions.

"Come on," Jack said quietly. "Lets find that terminal, and get the hell out of here."

(-:TFOTS:-)

Clara was momentarily surprised that when K9 and the White Dalek returned. She had thought for sure they would have been killed. Then she noticed the fresh battle scars on the Dalek's armour, and felt a pang of guilt.

"Your hurt!" she cried. The White Dalek looked at her as if to say 'Well done Captain Obvious'. Instead, it remained as unreadable as ever as it spoke.

"Yes. The damage is not permanent. I will repair it later."

K9 wheeled himself to his mistresses feet, and she scratched the dog behind his radio-dish ears.

"Daleks are eliminated. Threat is repelled, Mistress Cla-ra."

"Good boy, K9" Clara offered, wondering if she sounded patronising. She still needed time to adjust to the robot.

K9 looked pleased, and his tail antannae wagged enthusiastically.

Suddenly there was a crackle of static, and the Doctor's voice burst from the speaker.

"Clara! Come in, Clara!"

Clara broke out in an infectious smile. She practically skipped to the interface, and grabbed the mic.

"I read you loud and clear, Chin" she replied with all of her trademark tease.

"I'm hacking the interface now! On three! One, two, three!"

Clara tapped her screen at the exact moment the Doctor did. She heard a distant metal clank, followed by the Doctor's cheerful tones.

"The prison is open! We'll be up to you in a few minutes!"

"You'd better be!" Clara cheered. The mic crackled and was quiet.

(-:TFOTS:-)

The return journey was fraught with much more danger. Assisting the limping Midshipman and with Jack carrying Celia in his arms, the threat of Dalek attack loomed ever closer.

As the team reached the door to Clara's hidey-hole, the Doctor noticed two dead Daleks outside in the corridor. He couldn't say he felt remarkably bothered. Or that he was sorry there had been no other way.

Because he wasn't.

Rapping his knuckle gently on the door led to its brisk opening. As they stumbled inside, Clara leapt up to greet them.

What she saw was a broken Time Agent, a limping man in a uniform and a dirt-covered Doctor.

So, not quite the stuff of movies.

The Doctor pressed his hand on the door and it closed behind them. He approached Clara, giving her an unenthusiastic thumbs-up.

She noticed his defeatist face, and was very concerned. "Doctor, what happened?"

Her Time Lord looked straight at her, sadness in his usually glowing eyes. "They're all dead. The Daleks killed them."

Clara put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he shook it off.

"It was my fault. I wasn't quick enough. I let these monsters get away with it."

He turned away from her, ashamed to look at her, truly believing he had let her down. She didn't think that at all, but he was determined to prove his worth, not just for her, but himself.

"The Daleks will be on this position in a few minutes. A timed Delta Wave would wipe out every Dalek life form on this ship. Then we leave."

Clara searched his eyes for any sign of facade. There was none.

"But, Doctor. Every Dalek. That would kill him too!" she said urgently, gesturing to the White Dalek.

The Doctor avoided looking at her. "So be it," he said in a disconcertingly calm voice that didn't fit with what he was about to do.

"But... he saved my life! He doesn't deserve death!" she protested.

"They call me the Oncoming Storm for a reason, you know," he began. "Translated roughly, it means the Destroyer of the Daleks."

Clara felt like there was no ground beneath her feet. She was seeing a side to her Doctor she really disliked. She saw an unstoppable fire in his eyes.

She saw his soul. And there was no room for the Daleks.

"If I let them go again, who knows what they'll do!" The Doctor continued. "I have a duty to avenge the fallen."

Clara could see she wasn't getting through. "Please! This isn't what we do, Doctor! It doesn't have to be this way!"

She tugged at his sleeve, and at last he looked at her. It broke both his hearts to see the distress in her beautiful face. Naivety, sure, but a representative of all that was good in the world. A calming rain to put out his fire. A warm current to melt the ice in his soul.

And the breath of kindness and forgiveness which had brought him back to life. And, against all impossibilities, was teaching him to love again.

So, it was despite every impulse in the Doctor's head telling him to kill, that the love of Clara Oswin Oswald caused him to stop.

He looked with great affection at his companion. "So, then," he said, smiling once again. "We run?"

Clara returned his smile, their faces so close now their noses almost touched. "You bet!"

And, so with that, they did.

(-:TFOTS:-)

A clean escape it was not. As the TARDIS team ran through the identical grey corridor, they were met by many a Dalek. But a quick flash of a certain sonic device powered them down in a blink, and they continued.

As they entered the Court of the Daleks, the Doctor narrowly rolled under a death ray's shot. Clara thought it reminded her of a Jason Statham film, the dashing hero running from the explosions with no fear at all. She made a mental note to show the Doctor 'The Expendables' when she got the chance.

Reaching the parked TARDIS in the cargo hold, the Doctor stopped, and stood up straight, a smug smile on his face. With a quick snap of his fingers, his blue box opened without a touch.

It was clearly meant to impress Clara. But she just raised her eyebrows, and offered a mocking grin.

"Showoff" she muttered.

"Every time!" the Doctor remarked. He beckoned each of his friends inside. He counted them as they passed. Clara. Jack. K9. Frame. Celia.

He stopped as he noticed the White Dalek was making no attempt to enter.

"Come on!" he cried to it.

The Dalek looked at him, its eyestalk unblinking. "You would never trust a Dalek. You owe me nothing. Leave me."

The Doctor couldn't deny he wanted to, but "I owe you Clara's life. We made an alliance. And I intend to keep it."

He could scarcely believe what he was saying, but he knew he was doing the right thing.

The White Dalek paused for a few seconds as if judging him, then went through the doors. The Doctor followed it, closing the doors.

He ran to the central pillar of the now-packed control room, and began pulling levers. "Right. I'd better drop you off. Spaceport do?"

Jack approached the Doctor. "Actually, if you don't mind, there's somewhere else."

The Doctor nodded in complete understanding. Jack flashed him a grateful yet saddened smile.

Then they were off.

(-:TFOTS:-)

The Crystal Waterfalls of Balixia III were just as beautiful as Jack had expected.

A pure silver stream of water rolling down a glistening glass rock face, as the sun shone through it, reflected at every angle. Amethyst fish-like creatures popped out of the water at regular intervals. A smell of green grass perpetuating the very air.

Celia opened her eyes wearily, and saw the most beautiful sight she would ever see. She lolled her head to look at Jack, who was crouching over where she was laid on her back.

"Jack? Is... is this real?" she whispered. The Time Agent nodded, fighting back tears.

"I hope its everything you ever dreamed of" Jack said, his hand on her head, stroking her hair from her face.

"That and more... its... beautiful"

A small bird-like creature began to hum gently in the background. The sound was tranquil, and thoroughly pleasant.

"It is... isn't it" Jack said softly. But for all his appreciation of the environment, he wasn't actually referring to _it._

Celia craned her head to look up at Jack. The Time Agent looked deeply troubled. "Don't try and move, Celia" he whispered. "Everything.. is going to be fine..." His voice broke as he uttered the final word.

As the sun began to set on the crystalline landscape, Celia Bowles, smiling frailly all-the-while, closed her eyes for the last time. Jack completely lost his self-control and he began to weep profusely, cradling her lifeless head in his arms. He stayed like that for an unnacountable amount of time.

In the distance, The Doctor and Clara stood watching, hand in hand. The Doctor felt Clara's grip tighten, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly. Clara knew that the life of the Doctor didn't always end well, but death was never too small an impact to deal with.

She lay her head on the Doctor's shoulders. He didn't mind at all, in fact he really enjoyed the feeling of her closeness.

"Who was she?" asked when there were no words left to say.

The Doctor kept staring into the glare of the orange sun, and answered softly. "She was Celia Bowles. And she was_ brilliant._"

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**Next Chapter: Two of a Kind (Whouffle shippers, your patience will be rewarded... (end cryptic summary))**

**Thanks for reading all! Recently this story passed the 50 milestone for followers, and I just wanted to express my gratitude. You're all the best readers an author could ask for!**

**Three important matters to address now...**

**1. The Poll- Thanks to all who voted. Sleep well knowing that your votes will shape the course of this story. Everyone who had at least two votes will be appearing in some fashion (yes, even...). The main companions however will be Vastra, Jenny and Strax; River Song; The Reformed Dalek; Jack Harkness; and Wilf. Like I said, no need to panic because everyone with at least two votes WILL appear at some point. So that's that.**

**2. The Rating - Due to ever-evolving nature of this story I am making the conscious decision to change its rating to T. This shouldn't really affect the story, as I imagine most Whouffle shippers fit the bill. But there will be some shocking content along the line, as well as in this chapter. So be aware. (Plus this means the Doctor and Clara can be a bit more... you know...)**

**3. Pen Name- From the next chapter onwards, my pen name shall no longer by SlyvsClockwerk. I feel that my name must change with the winds, and the new name will be ASouffleToServeTwo. Apologies to any inconveniences caused. **

**So, thats all for now. As usual, its been a pleasure. If you liked/disliked this chapter or any, please Review, as it helps me to improve and evolve.  
**

**For the last time, this has been a _SlyVsClockwerk _story.**

**Bye bye!**


	9. Two of A Kind

10.46

Clara Oswald's lips parted and let loose with a soft yawn as she read the time off her bedside alarm clock.

She didn't want to sleep; every cell in her body was still reverberating with energy. But she was starting to feel her book slipping through her fingers, and her normally unshakeable focus disappearing.

Sighing, she put her bookmark in at page 236, and closed it, carefully replacing it on the shelf.

She lay her head back on her pillow, and smiled as a fresh flowery scent wafted into her nostrils from its inner stuffing.

So the Doctor HAD taken that extra flower! Clara had thought she had imagined seeing him pocketing the purple plant as they had laid Celia's grave.

He'd obviously taken it to use as a freshener for her pillow. She felt incredibly touched at his sentiment, and vowed to make a Oswin-trademark cunning tease about the flower at tomorrow's breakfast.

"Leaf anywhere last night, Doctor?" she whispered to herself, quietly chuckling.

Inhaling the herb's sweet scents aroused Clara's senses, whilst simultaneously easing her mind into dormancy.

Soon enough, her eyelids drooped, and she was away from the waking world once more.

Most girls would have nightmares about Dalek prisons after the kind of day she had had, but Clara Oswald was not "most girls". She was never more at peace, and she found her mind wandering, conjuring seemingly random myriad thoughts from the air.

She dreamt she was in the final rounds of Masterchef. She was on the world-famous stage, wearing a ridiculous floppy chef's hat, and wielding a whisk which she was trying to pretend she hadn't been licking moments before.

"And now... The results!" chimed Clara's imaginary host. "Who will be our champion? Will it be Greg with his mince pie, or Clara with her chocolate soufflés? Now... to our judging panel to decide..."

The first judge, a stern-looking lady with thin-rimmed glasses cleared her throat, and began to read from her notes.

"Yes... Miss Oswald's soufflé WAS tasty, but my tastebuds were particularly tickled by these marvellous mince pies! 9/10 for presentation, and a flawless 10/10 for effective use of ingredients!"

Clara's imaginary opponent smiled and looked smug, hands on hips, Cooking Papa apron fluttering in the wind.

"And now, Judge Two!" exclaimed the announcer, perfect white teeth glittering.

The round besuited man in the second chair looked up, licking his lips to remove all trace of the pie crumbs he was still gorging himself on.

"Uh... Yeah! I find that Mr Greg's mince is a much better prepared, and a superiorly tasting dish!" he rumbled, picking his teeth with his nail.

"So... We have a winner folks! The Champion of Masterchef 2013 is..."

He was suddenly cut off when the third judge stood up abruptly from his chair.

"I believe you're forgetting someone!" he said, sounding moderately annoyed. Clara beamed as she saw the specially-selected -for-the-occasion red bowtie.

"The Doctor will see you now!" said The Doctor, looking tall, dark and handsome in his black tux.

"I'm afraid that your input is irrelevant, Mr. Smith," began the bemused announcer. "We judge by majority vote, and..."

"Yes, hush now!" The Doctor cried. "I'd also like to point to rule 11 in this here handbook."

He produced his card wallet and flashed a blank strip of paper around. His psychic paper, the ultimate tool in deception that no Time Lord could live without.

"It clearly says right here that no contestant may use live animals as ingredients!" he declared.

Greg was looking cheesed off. "This is preposterous! The man's a raving lunatic!"

The Doctor in turn pulled an angry face, demonstrating his sway of power over people. Clara _loved_ it when he acted tough.

"Nothing can be as crazy as using live Adipose young in your pies, 'Greg'!" he yelled, fishing his hand into Greg's mixing bowl and producing a pink and fleshy baby alien.

"Under the order of the Shadow Proclamation, I'm putting you under arrest, 'Greg'" he continued, pacing decisively around the room. He stopped suddenly, and with his hammiest voice, cried out "Or should I say... Cybergreg!"

And with that, the Doctor reached out and yanked on Greg's head, pulling it clean off to reveal a humanoid metal helmet with sinister handlebars. The face of a Cyberman.

Clara face-palmed. The dialogue in her subconscious was worse than a 70's B-Movie!

"Curses, Doctor! Yet again you have foiled our plans to take over Earth's chain of fast food restaurants to convert into cyber-control stations!" chanted the mouthpiece of the helmet.

The Doctor looked satisfied that his work was done. He turned to Clara, who was still smiling deeply at him. He gave her a wink and a cheeky smile.

"Guess that make's you the winner then, huh?" he said, walking up to Clara. "I always liked your soufflés more than pies."

Clara leapt into his embrace. "My hero!" she cried, burying her head in his shoulders.

He reciprocated by hoisting his arms underneath her legs, and yanking her up into his cradle.

Clara snuggled up to her man and felt the warmth from his body heat her face.

"Come on then, chin" she whispered. "Show me the stars!"

And so The Doctor did, still carrying her like a baby in his strong grip. As he walked the television set began to become transparent, unravelling and disappearing, and the setting of Clara's dream changed to that of a green pavilion.

As her Doctor carried her slowly towards a white gazebo coated with flowers, Clara looked around and recognised the imagery in her dream.

The Crowds of smiling faces. The red carpet sprinkled with petals and glitter.

And the white dress she had found herself draped in, complete with fluffy-rimmed veil.

Once again, she had found herself at the wedding of her and The Doctor. The fictional and likely-too-optimistic dream visited her sleeping mind on many occasions.

Clara wasn't sure how to feel about her dream. On one hand she was worried about the clinginess and stalker-like attitudes that it presented about her relationship with the Doctor. But on one hand she felt shameless to envisage her feelings through the strong metaphor of marriage.

She knew it couldn't continue like this. The Doctor would find out, and she no amount of preparation could prepare her for the heartbreak of rejection.

The Doctor was the best (and maybe only) part of Clara's life so far which excited her. Don't get her wrong, her job with the Maitland family was (as childcare jobs went) decent, but she had grown weary of her charges as the weeks turned to months and she longed to see the places marked in her '101 Places to See' book.

When that brilliant bow-tied stranger had shown up on her doorstep (albeit as a monk), Clara's life had changed dramatically. Undeniably for the better.

She had been cautious at first, wary not to trust the Doctor let alone open her heart to him. She had been particularly concerned at the comment that he had a "sliver of ice in his heart". But that had all changed one fateful evening...

(:-TFOTS-:)

"Doctor, look out!" Clara Oswald cried, watching with wide eyes as the head of a scaly reptilian creature rose from Blackpool's choppy waves.

The Doctor covered his eyes with his hand to block the sun's intense gaze, and his lips curled in an infectious smile that signified both his awe and fear.

"Hello again, old friend," he said in a soft voice.

"You're friends with Godzilla's son?" asked Clara incredulously, only half-joking.

The Doctor met her gaze. "Don't be rude, Clara. This is a Sea Devil. To him, you look like a hairless monkey!"

Clara raised her eyebrows. "Steady on there Time Boy. Are you calling me a monkey?"

Deciding his life could only continue if he didn't answer that question, The Doctor reached out to hold Clara's hand, which she tried to shake off.

"I'm not a baby, Doctor! I'm a grown woman, now let go of my hand!"

The Doctor looked sheepish and let go. Unfortunately in that moment the Sea Devil chose to pounce on Clara whilst her back was turned. Clara screamed as powerful arms swept her backwards in the direction of the sea.

"Let her go now!" the Doctor yelled, squinting through the harsh sunlight. All around them holidaymakers were fleeing, their arms swaying their buckets and spades to and fro.

The Doctor guessed that million-year-old reptilian warriors had not been on their brochures.

Clara struggled pointlessly in the slimy grasp of the Sea Devil. She screamed and kicked and yelled. She was completely and utterly terrified.

The hot fishy breath on the back of her neck. The cold and wet scaly texture of its skin. These were just two of the countless reasons Clara Oswald was not having a good day at all.

"I won't ask again! Clara is my friend, she is not a tool for bargaining!"

The Sea Devil hissed in a way reminiscent of a cross between a snake and a crocodile. Only when the Doctor began to nod did Clara realise it had actually just spoken in its native language.

"I understand, Major Raklas. But these humans are not like the ones from the Silurian Era who pillaged your food and peed in your water supplies. These are _good_ people. Don't force me to represent them badly..."

At that he held out his sonic like a blade.

More communicative hissing. The Doctor ran his hand through his hair, knocking off the sunglasses that had been resting on the top of his head.

"Yes. I get it, okay. Some of them are, I admit, dumping in the sea. But you're a rational civilisation. We can talk this through without a full-scale invasion!"

Clara had no doubt in her mind that this was her end. She would die... in Blackpool. She cursed whatever passed for Karma in the cruel and twisted universe she inhabited. A solitary tear of sheer distress rolled from her eye, dripping down her nose.

The Doctor was clearly driven on by the distinctive discomfort of his companion. He was both concerned **and** angry, for Clara and her captor respectively.

A bad combination. Especially if you happen to be The Doctor.

"Sorry, Raklass. I'm sorry that you left me no choice here..." he said, looking his ancient nemesis in the eyes, but not looking too sorry about what he was about to do.

He pressed his sonic and it lit up like a firework, spraying millions of unique sonic fluctuations in nanoseconds.

The Sea Devil began to shake violently, its armour pierced like a drawing pin through paper.

Clara gasped for air as the grip on her was released. She dropped to her knees, her captor dropping onto its back behind her.

The Doctor was there in a second, pulling her to her feet, and stroking the sides of her face tenderly.

"Did the bad Sea Devil hurt you?" he asked her concernedly.

Clara caught her breath which was leaking like a gas canister, and raised her shaking head to look into his eyes, and instantly, everything changed.

She saw a man who never put himself before the universe. She saw a philosopher who knew the answer to every question.

But above all of that, she saw a stunning devotion to her safety and wellbeing. A man who wouldn't blink twice about using any methods to save her life. Hers. The human race came second.

And in that moment she fell head-over-heels in love with him.

Everything seemed irrelevant now. That's what love does to people. In a few seconds Clara Oswald had completely forgotten that mere seconds ago she had been fearing for her life.

She just kept staring into those eyes for such a long uninterrupted period that she managed to forget he had asked her a question.

"Uh... yeah, I'm fine..." she managed to stutter.

The Doctor beamed at her and the very sight of it warmed her heart and tickled her spine.

"I am very glad to hear it, Clara Oswald" he continued, taking his hand from her face and returning his glance to the fallen Sea Devil. "Now, what do you say we deal with a particularly large and grumpy fish person?"

Clara began to laugh, although she couldn't determine whether she had actually found the joke funny or not. She just felt... so happy, in that second. Her mind was up with the birds. But she still managed to counter his banter as usual.

"I say bring on the batter!"

The Doctor began to laugh. Gently, at first, but getting increasingly louder and uncontrolled. Clara began to laugh too. It was just the moment. The moment everyone has at least once in their lives, where you think that nothing could be better, and nothing ever will be. By now, the pair had lost any sense of restraint, and were laughing like a pair of kids at a fart joke. They were two of the same kind.

As the two of them cracked up laughing on the beach on that hot summer's day it was almost like, just for a moment, the universe was a lighter and more beautiful place.

(:-TFOTS:-)

Still in her limbo of sleep, a smile spread across Clara's face at the memory.

Blackpool.

She would now forever love that seagull-swarmed seafront, with all the silly souvenir shops, and the ice cream man who had just stared mouth-open when the Doctor poured no less than three-hundred pounds in front of him and asked for two 99's and a p[ack of Jammie Dodgers.

It had all escalated from there. Clara had been trying (unsuccessfully) to find the right moment to declare her feelings. She had thought several times that the time was right, and she had looked expectantly at the Doctor to make the first move.

But he hadn't, of course. Either he too was nervous, or he didn't _have_ the feelings. Clara hoped to god that it wasn't a case of the latter. She'd just break in two.

So, for now she had her dreams in which to play out her fantasies. Masterchef was new, but she had had the wedding dream many times.

She remembered every detail as it once again played out in front of her eyes.

The white-haired vicar reading from the Bible. Her dad's speech. The Maitland children as the ring bearers, carrying her Gold Ring atop a red pillow.

Then, her favourite bit. The kiss. At that point, she would always wake up. So she always savoured it.

The Doctor was holding her hands and smiling in his black tuxedo. His face crept up to hers, and Clara closed her eyes and puckered up.

But then, nothing. Clara opened her eyes and found herself alone in the church. All the happy faces were gone. Her future husband was nowhere to be seen. Her dream had changed.

"Impossible" she thought to herself.

**"No, Clara Oswald. You are the only thing here that is impossible."**

Clara froze, her blood running cold. There was no way... Not here... It couldn't be here... In her dreams?

**"I am here. And I am there. I am everywhere,"** her tormentor cackled, sounding more patronising than ever before.

Clara felt completely helpless and terrified. She tried to force herself to wake up, but found she was stuck. Trapped.

Imprisoned in her own mind.

Suddenly she felt anger boiling up inside her. This was her special place. How dare this monster torment her here!

She strained her mind, thinking one solitary thought, emphasising it to try and make it solid.

"Go away!" she screamed. "I won't let you in my head! You can't be here!"

A few seconds passed. Clara took her hands from her ruffled hair and lay them at her sides.

Had it worked? Had she expelled the shadow?

But then Clara felt a presence behind her, and she turned sharply to find the Doctor standing by her side again.

But she didn't feel relieved. Oh no. Because this was NOT her Doctor.

For starters, this man bore no glimmers of happiness. He looked perpetually dark, a blank and sinister look upon his face.

Her fears were confirmed when 'the Doctor' spoke.

**"Well, that WOULD work. IF I was a product of your imagination. Which I'm not."**

It was the voice of the entity. It hadn't been lying. It could take any form, and she knew it was taking this form to try and torment/distress her.

Clara was determined not to feel any such notions. "What kind of a supervillain has no real body?" she asked the air, as it rippled around her with apprehension.

**"I am the dark. The fear. For as long as humans have feared the dark, I have fed from their terror. I am the dark by which you recognise the light. I have no need of form. I have my purpose. And YOU, have YOURS."**

Clara shrugged whilst folding her arms defensively. "Quite a god complex you have there," she muttered under her breath.

A deep laughter followed, which slightly unsettled Clara, but she grit her teeth and tried not to show it.

**"Perhaps I should remind my puppet who pulls her strings,"** the shadow Doctor continued, before suddenly exploding outwards into hundreds of viscous tendrils which shot out in all directions. **"Or maybe I should cut them altogether!"**

The shadowy snakes curled around Clara's legs, causing her to shriek and kick out at them. They wriggled up through her tights and sleeves. The sensation was horrific, like having hundreds of ants walking on your skin, if the ants had small, sharp knives for feet.

**"Remember that I can rip you apart at will, Clara Oswald. You can try telling yourself that everything is fine. But don't you owe it to yourself not to lie?"**

Clara feel to her knees, eyes scrunched up in suppressed pain. Fighting back tears, she forced her head up to address her shadowy attacker in angry shouts.

"There was a girl like you in my high school, you know. Because she was a coward, she liked to pick on all of the other girls who didn't go along with her 'agenda'. Which, by the way, included, among many other things, stealing frogs from biology and sticking pins through them!"

More laughter. **"You think I care?"**, the tendrils asserted as they wrapped around her neck and cut off her air. **"I am all of your fears, nightmares and more."**

Clara struggled to speak against the grasp of the dark. "But do you know what happened to her? She was sick, in the head. She bullied me and my friends, tried to make our lives a misery, but you know what? I felt sorry for her! I still do! Because she didn't need to control people. What she really needed - is a Doctor!"

The tendrils retracted, but Clara was sure that it wasn't her words that had caused it. Nonetheless, she felt a small sense of satisfaction. She wasn't afraid of this monster any more.

**"I'm done playing with my toys for now. Remember, Clara Oswald. You are not safe from me, not ever. You are my pawn, and the board is in my favour in this little game. Checkmate."**

And then the dark was gone, the atmosphere once again feeling normal, as if even the universe had been holding its breath. Clara found that she was able to think again, and woke herself up.

She came up in bed and started to cough out of control. She grabbed the glass of water from her bedside table, and her dry throat was instantly alleviated as the cold liquid ran down her throat.

Putting the glass down, she ran her fingers through her hair. She found that she was a far cry from the hysterical wreck she had been when the Entity first paid her a visit. Her hands were not shaking, and she felt anger rather than fear about the experience. But the thought that she was powerless to defend herself was deeply unsettling.

The time of being helpless was _over_. It was time to get the expert opinion.

She just hoped her practitioner wasn't asleep on the job.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**NEXT CHAPTER: Ghosts (More Whouffle that I ran out of time for here)**

**Well. Exam season begins now, so I'm only able to promise a chapter every Saturday from here on out. Be patient with me and I will get past this irritating period and update maybe four-five times **_a week_. **So, as usual, if you want to give your opinion of this or any chapter in a review, I'm only glad to hear it.**

**Check out my profile for the full synopsis of this story which I couldn't fit into that tiny summary box.**

**Also, lets put our hands together and pray that the teasers for tonight's episode aren't trolls. Whouffle will become canon tonight. And, if it doesn't, I will pay Mr. Moffat a visit with an ice pick.**

**Have a wonderful evening Whovians!**

**ASouffleToServeTwo (God I love my new name!)**


	10. Ghosts

"But how? How can you be here?"

The Doctor began to pace up and down the empty control room in frustration. If there was one thing he hated, it was not knowing.

One thing after another these days. The Fall of the Eleventh. The Question. The Cracks.

And Clara Oswald.

All of a sudden the greatest intelligence in all of time and space was completely without a clue. And that _terrified_ him.

He slowly returned his gaze to the monitor. Upon it was the image of the crack in the skin of the universe, recorded by the all-knowing, all-seeing TARDIS database.

The Doctor felt a bit dizzy looking at it. It was almost like it was staring back at him. Laughing. Taunting him and his cluelessness.

"I closed you! I jumpstarted the universe. The second Big Bang! How can it not have been enough?" he wondered aloud, hand rubbing his elongated chin.

The crack did not answer him. But a certain robot companion did.

"The cracks are caused by the implosion of the TARDIS hyperdrive, affirmative?"

The Doctor nodded to K9. "Yes. They were. Still are, I guess. But does that mean the TARDIS explosion wasn't a singular event? And that it was actually rooted through every time-stream all at the same time?"

His complexion increased, creasing his forehead. "26th June 2010 wasn't the source of the explosion, but instead an echo of the greater explosion occurring elsewhere in time?"

He placed his hands on his head, and closed his eyes in deep thought.

"Is it so much to ask for the universe to be simple? That, just for once, the great scheme of things both good and bad would play out straight? Miracles are one thing. What we have here is quite another."

K9 piped up even though it had no philosophical observations to make. "Master, where is the Dalek located?"

The Doctor sighed loudly. "In the hold. I've put a Tesla barrier around it, just in case. Fry it's circuitry if it tires to leave. I'm not taking any chances until I know I can trust it."

He clasped his hands together and leant back on the wall. "**Should **that day ever come."

He began to tap loudly to distract himself. "I don't know, K9. Are these people the ones to accompany me to my fate? Is Trenzalore coming? Should I let them in on the possibility of that danger? Am I good for them any more?"

It was a question that needed no answer. The Doctor was sure he knew it already. He was intensely worried about Craig Owens. He was brave, yes, but he was still a very fragile human being. If he was caught in the crossfire, the Doctor didn't know **what** he'd do. He was most concerned about Clara Oswald. He'd killed her twice. He couldn't bear to see her die a third time. Especially considering how he was coming to feel about her.

There was no sound to be heard but the gentle humming of the TARDIS engine. For not the first time that evening, the Doctor wished that his companions didn't have to sleep.

He may have one of the biggest families in the universe out there, but against the many mysteries facing The Doctor he had never felt more alone. Or useless.

He poured out a bowl of Crude Oil for K9 in his 'Good Dog' bowl, which his metallic companion gratefully accepted, lapping it up to refill his reserves tank.

Then he took a seat and sat with with his head in his hands. He was so zoned out he almost didn't hear her coming. But yet he did.

"Bit late to be having a stroll, isn't it Miss Oswald?"

He swivelled his chair to face his female companion who had only just entered the control room from one of the corridors.

Her hair was all over the place, her eyes were red from fatigue and her posture was akin to an Egyptian mummy, arms hung at her sides and face contorted with stress.

Nonetheless, she was still stunningly attractive.

Her brown eyes reflected the deep shrubberies of Gallifrey, where the Doctor and the Master had once played joyously in their youth. A long time ago, sure, but the good memories never should be outweighed by the bad.

Her nose was small but endearingly cute. Her ears were like little radar dishes, and the Doctor noticed from time-to-time that they often went red around him. Now was no different.

Inside his chest his two hearts began to beat that little bit faster, like a drumming band in full encore.

"I'm sorry Doctor. Is this a bad time?" Clara asked, looking tiny.

The Doctor sensed her discomfort and worry, and his hearts instantly went out to her. He just wanted her to be happy. To pull her into a hug, and whisper in her ear that everything was fine and always would be.

He shook off his inclinations. "No, not at all. I always have time for you, Clara Oswald."

Clara offered him a grateful smile. "I need to talk to you about something," she said. The Doctor gestured to the seat next to him on the sofa. He wasn't catching her drift.

She elaborated for him. "Alone. In private. Preferably, with **no** K9. No offence!"

The robot dog seemed completely indifferent. "Affirmative, mistress. Farewell Master". With that, he finished his oil and trundled from the room.

Clara walked over to the baggy sofa. The Time Lord was out of the loop about what the norm for a sofa was. His looked like it belonged in a scrapheap, the felt ripped and the stuffing hanging out in places. Nonetheless, Clara sat down on it, tucking her skirt underneath her legs, and allowed herself to get comfortable. Or uncomfortable.

"What's up?" the Doctor asked, focus now entirely on his companion's pretty face.

"It's about that night, Doctor," Clara began hesitantly, doing her best to ignore the haughty implications of what she was saying. "My... nightmare."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Did you have it again?"

Clara nodded, biting her lip. "Except, I'm certain that it wasn't... isn't... a dream." She was struggling to control her voice, which was breaking off.

Sensing her distress, the Doctor placed his hand on hers. He hated to see her upset - no matter the reason. This seemed to relax her a bit, and she continued after taking a moment to catch her breath.

"I've seen it three times now. Once on that night. Then again on the Dalek ship. And again... just now."

The Doctor nodded, stroking her tender hand slowly. "What exactly happens?"

"There's this... voice... in my head. It's like it's mocking me... It keeps saying I can't do anything to make it stop. And it keeps appearing differently. Once it was a shadow, and then it was..."

Her voice faltered again. She could barely speak the words. "You, Doctor."

The Doctor whispered gently to her, soothing her nerves. "What does it say to you?"

Clara shook her head. "I don't know. It just keeps saying that I'm useless, and that I can't fight my fear. I just..." Her voice trembled as her raw emotion bled into it. "I just hate it, Doctor. I just want it to stop!"

She was shaking a lot now, tears rolling from her hazel eyes and onto her nightgown. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her, and she laid her head against his chest.

"It hurts me, Doctor! It attacks me if I question it! It feels like a knife in my skin! Why is it doing this to me?"

The Doctor held her close as her breathing slowed back to normal. She had been on the brink of hysteria, but his touch had brought her back.

"Listen to me, okay Clara?" the Doctor whispered as he stroked her head. "Whatever is going on, I'll figure it out. **We'll **figure it out, together. Okay? Because that's what we do. I won't let it hurt you ever again, you hear me?"

Through her tears, Clara nodded slowly. She was chewing her bottom lip to try and stop her crying, and it was starting to work.

"You should never keep these things from me, okay? You're under my protection. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you" he said calmly, akin to a relaxing waterfall cascading away all of life's problems.

The Doctor began again, whispering softly into her ear. "Did I ever tell you the story of a certain young Time Lord, born on the sixteenth province of Gallifrey? He was raised by a very kind mother, not unlike your own. She would tell him stories, of The Grand Boundaries of the Seventh Quasselect, and the Silver Moons of Boon. You'd love Boon, Clara. All of the people go around wearing fezzes, and the cats have two tails!"

Clara laughed, her smile instantly bringing the light back to her darkened features. "You're so full of it, you know that Doctor?"

The Doctor chuckled. "It's all true, I promise! One day, I'll show you."

In response to his warmth, Clara closed her eyes and began to visualize the Golden Orange skies of Gallifrey, just as the Doctor had lovingly described to her on many prior occasions.

"Well, anyway. This young Time Lord was particularly headstrong and reckless, and he wanted to rush through his childhood, so he could own a TARDIS for himself, and see the stars". The Doctor smiled sadly. "He never recognized the importance of his family, always in a rush, and he never realized how much he would miss them... when they were gone."

Clara put her hand on the Doctor's. She understood his pain. They had both loved and lost. They were kindred souls. Two of a kind.

"In the end though, this Time Lord ended up having to steal his TARDIS because he wasn't qualified to drive one. He was so... determined to see those stars. And, he did. Seeing all of the worlds and nebulas changed him. He knew that they were beautiful, but he didn't want to experience them alone. Not any more. Only then did he realize exactly why he should never hide his emotion. It was a thing to be celebrated. To think that he had believed it to be a distraction! Nothing is more important than keeping your loved ones close".

At that, his embrace of Clara seemed to grow tighter. Only a slight change, but it was obvious that his narration was making him think very deeply.

"That's why he travelled, Clara. He wanted to see the universe, but the universe didn't want to see him alone. So, he met people. People who were very important to him, in the many years that followed. He didn't want to entertain his own selfish desires any more. Now he just wanted to take his friends, his companions, on a journey that would brighten their lives. He never knew why. He never knew when. He only knew... who."

Clara raised her head and looked straight at the Doctor. He looked right back at her, lost in the depths of her brown eyes.

They were so close together now, he could smell her perfume. Cherry. It suited her well.

"When he met someone who he knew... just knew... he wanted to take on this adventure, wanted to share those experiences, he never hesitated. Because there's just so much out there, Clara. So much amazement to feel. So much happiness to discover. So many beautiful sights that should only be experienced with people... that you love."

Clara blinked slowly. It was like time had stopped around them, and they were the only people in the universe. "What are you thinking, Doctor?" Clara asked, watching him closely, her heart beating at an accelerated rate.

The Doctor took a deep breath. "Isn't it obvious? I only take the best of the best. And that's you. You were always more than just a ghost."

The moment could have lasted forever. Not a pin dropped. "I will _always_ be there for you, Clara Oswald."

Clara needed no further invitation - she suddenly grabbed the Doctor by the lapels of his bow-tie, and pulled him down to her level, where their lips met, connecting them in a passionate kiss. The Doctor didn't flail his arms at all, but placed them gently around Clara's waist. Clara's lips were warm, and soft. Her breath was sweeter than one of her chocolate soufflés. She was also (modestly) a fantastic kisser. It was like being at peace with the world, relaxing all of the Doctor's senses in a zen-like fashion. Their lips moved in synchronicity, exploring each other slowly, but meaningfully. Then Clara licked the Doctor's lips for entry, and he let her in, their tongues brushing together gently, but with a rough and desperate edge too.

They just stayed like that for what seemed like a century, arms around each other, and lips moving together frantically. Finally, they broke apart, breathless.

"I guess this really _is_ a snog box, huh?" Clara managed to gasp, still almost brain-dead from the overwhelming rush surging through her body. She had been on a high, and was taking her due time to come down from it.

The Doctor began to scratch at his head nervously. He too was in shock. "Well... that was..." Then he broke into a smile. He knew exactly what word to use. Clara returned the smile. There **was **no other word to describe it. The most fantastic experience either of them had ever had.

"Geronimo!"

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**NEXT CHAPTER: Victorian Values - Vastra, Jenny and Strax return! (25/5/13)**

**It _had_ to be special. It needed it's own chapter. But what did you think? Was it worth the wait? Did it do Whouffle justice? I'm eager to know! It'll only get better for the lovestruck pair from now on.**

**So, if you liked (or disliked) this chapter (or any), please leave a review. It always helps me through the tedious time that is EXAMINATION SEASON.**

**The Name of the Doctor is tonight, so fingers crossed for Whouffle, and, of course, a superb season finale! No matter who Clara may turn out to be, I will continue this story as it is only fiction.**

**As always, it's been my pleasure. See you all next time!**

**ASouffleToServeTwo**


	11. Victorian Values

(London, 1894, 7.03 PM Approx)

Chief Inspector Byron Carver closed his eyes in repulsion as he lifted the blood-soaked tarpaulin from the body.

It was just as bad as he had feared. The victim wasn't dead so much as literally drained of all life. Their skin was such a pale deathly white that they looked almost like a bag of flour. Their eyes were bloodshot, and their mouth twisted in one last tormented gasp for help.

But most shockingly of all was the way his limbs were curved. They looked like they were made of dough, and had been stretched all over the place in some sort of sick game. Of course, Byron knew better than to believe that this was the work of just any man.

The Black Chariot had struck again.

"Reginald, get on the telegraph, would you? We need to contact Scotland Yard. We need backup." Byron called to his assistant, who was backed well away from the ghastly crime scene.

Reginald nodded slowly, trying to keep the bile in his throat from rising any further. "Yes... sir" he stammered, looking faint. Then he hurried off.

Byron tutted as he replaced the tarpaulin on the corpse. "Such a pointless waste of life," he muttered to himself, stroking his handlebar moustache. The victim was a young man, no older than twenty. Byron recognized him as a local lad. He may or may not have worked in the Bakery Henry's understudy. He would have to inform the kind old man of the passing. He hoped it wouldn't to have to be him who gave the news. Byron sighed. "I do hope we can put this wretched business behind us soon", he continued, but with no real hope in his heart that the day would come.

He'd been investigating the Chariot for over two months now. And this was the tenth victim.

Byron stood up, and after making his final respects to the victim, picked up his black leather briefcase and walked off into the fog of night-time London.

He watched the scared children press their grubby faces up against the window, watching him pass with fear in their eyes. Byron had become a bit of an infamous character, due to his shady dealings around the town whilst investigating the Chariot. He'd needed to be... persuasive in order to get access to the autopsies at Doctor Fincham's laboratory.

There were rumours circulating that he had made a deal with the Doctor to dig up and harvest four human hearts for his studies, in exchange for the autopsy. They weren't exactly true, but people were superstitious in dark times like these. Byron couldn't blame them really. But he'd even heard a few whispers that he himself was behind the Black Chariot's murders, and was self-employing himself to make a living. Poppycock!

But still, after all the stories Byron had heard about the "Crimson Horror" of Yorkshire, he understood why the people of Victorian England needed a foundation to cling on to, a finger of blame to point. He just wished it didn't have to be him.

Byron had been elsewhere at the time, but he'd heard the stories. Jack the Ripper. He'd heard them all. That he was a demon (maybe even the devil), or that he was a Royal Family member. By god, he'd even heard murmurs that Saucy Jack was none other than... a dinosaur! But he digressed.

Above all of the fanciful whispers however, Byron was most intrigued by talk of the Great Detective. Supposedly, he was a mysterious character, who lurked in the shadows, but always answered the call for help when it was given. His skills - supposedly - surpass that of the great Sherlock Holmes himself. He had single handedly solved the mystery of Jack the Ripper (or at least, stopped the killings from escalating further), and all the strange activity around the Great Intelligence Institute had likewise disappeared once he had gotten involved. Byron had heard talk of carnivorous snowmen, but, as usual, he had simply been assigned the boring job of beat patrols.

Until now.

Because when Scotland Yard didn't have anyone else to investigate, or when they were all too scared, or revolted, or uninterested to take on the case, the job always fell to Byron Carver. The joke of the force. The man who made the tea.

So, that was how he found himself two months ago in the district of Chiswick, investigating horrifically disfigured corpses.

The Black Chariot. That was what the kids called it. The children of Chiswick, who are the only ones to have (supposedly) seen it and lived to tell the tale. They say it looks like a horse, with terrible gnashing teeth that slobber and drip with blood-red saliva. A horse, that isn't quite a horse. It's there, but it's not. Byron didn't know what to make of this. He got the feeling that the kids may be making fun of him, but he also felt inclined to believe them.

Was the Chariot a ghost? It certainly would explain why its victims looked like nothing from this world.

Byron was no expert, and he admitted it. He needed backup. He needed a specialist.

He needed a Doctor.

(:-TFOTS-:)

(1 Week Later)

The horsedrawn carriage stopped outside of Paternoster Row on a cold Monday night. Stepping out in his finest fur coat and cane, Byron gestured to Reginald to follow him.

The young man looked reluctant, but stepped out of the carriage onto the stone-tiled floor.

The pair looked up at 13 Paternoster Row. The house certainly was IMPOSING, with its chimneys that stretched into the skyline, to say the least of its inhabitants.

Byron took the lead towards the front door. Begrudgingly, Reginald followed suit, saying dumb things as per usual to try and hide his nerves.

"They say he drinks blood, you know!" Reginald chimed in an annoyingly inquisitive tone, causing Byron to sigh.

"They say he's a lot of things, boy. But what he definitely IS, is the help that we require, so shut yer mouth and behave!"

Reginald looked down and obeyed.

Byron turned to the oak door and rattled the steel knocker four times. There was nothing for a while, then there was muffled voices from inside, followed by short and stubby footsteps towards the door.

At last there was the sound of a bolt being drawn back, and the great oak door swung open.

"Good evening sirs, how may I help you?" came a rough-edges voice from within the hallway.

"My name is Chief Inspector Byron Carver of Scotland Yard, here on behalf of the aforementioned Yard to discuss the-"

"Yes, yes, yes!" the voice rudely interrupted. "I've heard it all before. Try and make themselves out to be allies. Bah! First rule of combat on Sontah: Shoot first, think later! Prepare for your total annihilation!"

Byron stood back in shock, mouth a gasp. "I have never heard such rudeness. I hope this butler is duly fired! I have pre-arranged this meeting with-"

Suddenly a woman ran to the open doorway, and uttered a breathless apology.

"I'm so terribly sorry, sire" she cried. "Strax can get ahead of himself sometimes!" At that, she cuffed the little butler around the back of the head.

"Shoo! Go play with your grenades!" she yelled. 'Strax' cussed under his breath and toddled off.

"So sorry! Please come in. We're expecting you!" the woman shrilled, taking Byron's hat and scarf and hanging them on the nearby rail.

Byron looked back to see Reginald still hovering outside with a mixture of uncertainty and anxiety.

"Come on, Reginald! You're making us look like fools!"

His apprentice nodded sulkily and entered the hallway, closing the oak door behind him. The woman, who was wearing the standard uniform of a maid, came back over to the pair.

"This way, this way! Oh, you can call me Jenny by the way!"

Byron smiled. "Thank you, Jenny. Come along Reginald!"

So the two officers followed Jenny through the interior of her grand house. Gothic, yes - but there was something that Byron couldn't quite put his finger on. An aura of mystics. Like there was something quite unworldly about the entire place. It didn't frighten Byron. He felt very comfortable there.

Eventually they reached a large door, which Byron supposed led to the main room of the house. Jenny turned to them and raised her hand, gesturing them to wait.

"I'll just be one minute. Stay here please."

Then she popped through the door, closing it sharply behind her. There was the sound of talking from behind the door. As Byron stood waiting outside, he noticed Reginald was watching the strange butler 'Strax', as he made his way from what appeared to be the kitchen, carrying a jar of sherbet lemon fancies away with him like a prize catch. Byron felt inclined to say something. This 'Strax' was the most unorthodox butler he had ever seen. He certainly wouldn't want him under his employ.

But he didn't say anything, and moments later Jenny opened the door and gestured them inside. "The Great Detective will see you now."

Byron eagerly stepped into the room. The first thing he noticed was the intense temperature. It couldn't be coming from the fireplace, because the tiny sparks of embers from those coals were so minuscule they could barely be felt up close. No - there was definitely something strange about the room. It was littered with tall green plants and a water fountain beset the centre. A large black chair was sat facing the wall.

Byron raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure he's here, miss?" he asked Jenny. Jenny nodded, and gestured to the chair.

"They won't talk to you until you pique their interest. Make it worth their while. Choose your words carefully."

Byron nodded in understanding, but it was all a façade, for he hadn't a clue what was going on here. He approached slowly, and upon noticing an ivory steel chair next to the fountain, took a seat in it. He cleared his throat and began.

"Greetings. My name is-"

Jenny coughed loudly to get his attention. "Actually, I literally meant choose your word carefully. Like, you only get one."

Byron opened his mouth to protest. "One? One word? How can I possibly tell the story in one word?"

Jenny shrugged. "It's not impossible. One did it. A woman, in fact. We're not exactly by-the-books detectives, Mr Carver. We only take jobs that take our fancy. So, I'll repeat. Choose your word carefully."

Byron blinked and returned his attention to the back of the chair, which it was clear to him now did have a person sitting in it. He racked his thoughts. One word. What did he need? What was the most important aspect of this case?

He finally decided on his word, and spoke it loud and clear. "Aliens" he said, barely believing the irrational thought he had just shared with them. But it seemed to work, and there was a "Hmm" sound from the chair.

Jenny appeared behind Byron, making him jump. "What do you think?"

The chair turned sharply all-of-a-sudden. Byron got a brief view of its occupant, but they were wearing a black veil. In fact, they were all in black. It was like being at a funeral.

The Great Detective was nodding, hand on invisible chin. Then she put a hand on her veil and lifted it clean off.

And suddenly it was very clear to Byron why she wore it.

Her face was green. And scaly. Her eyes were that of a hungry predator. A snake, to be precise, looking at Byron like he was the mouse for its lunch.

Byron was aware that his mouth was hanging open.

The Great Detective chuckled. "So, Mr. Carver. Are you surprised because you've found me to be a million-year old lesbian lizard from the dawn of time?"

Byron shook his head. Honestly, it was the least strange thing to have happened to him in a long time. "No. I'm surprised because I've found you to be a woman!"

(:-TFOTS:-)

Breakfast in the TARDIS kitchen was becoming more crowded by the day. Now it was no longer Clara, The Doctor and Craig - but also Midshipman Frame, and Jack Harkness.

The Doctor hoped they had enough bacon.

He was finding it quite awkward to be around Clara at the moment. Sure, he'd meant every word to her, but it was like now she expected a relationship from him almost instantly. He kept noticing her looking at him expectantly and longingly. He couldn't deny that he was seriously attracted to her. And he had really enjoyed that kiss with her the previous night.

It wasn't that he didn't want to be with her. He did, more than anything. And he didn't want her to think otherwise. But it was complicated. It always would have been. He was a Time Lord, and she was a human. He would outlive her. He'd have to watch the woman he loves die. And then he'd be alone again. He remembered Emperor Rassilon's words to him when he was being initiated.

"You must always remember. Time Lords are the Sentinels of Time. We are timeless, and so we do not exist within the universe. We must not fall in love, except among ourselves. Love is the end for a Time Lord."

Even though he was the Last of the Time Lords, the Doctor knew he had to uphold these traditions. Time Lord's have a lot of enemies. He'd always be putting Clara at risk. And he couldn't bear that.

So, despite his feelings for Clara, he couldn't bring himself to act on them. It was heartbreaking, but The Doctor had lived long enough to know that having these feelings was all that mattered.

He had a lot of problems to deal with right now. But the possibility of romance was the most terrifying.

Maybe one day.

Maybe one day he would stop running.

"It's been a hell of a long time since I had grub this good!" Jack exclaimed, bringing the Doctor out of his thoughts and back to the present. "Dalek ships don't exactly have luxury menus."

Frame nodded to acknowledge his agreement. He had been pretty quiet ever since his rescue. His experiences were having a big effect on him, and the Doctor could see it. He had considered trying to explain to Frame that he was the Doctor, but decided the brain-ache of regeneration was the last thing the Midshipman needed right now.

"Well, we have Clara to thank today! Apparently there was an accident involving the TARDIS stove and a spark plug - all completely unintentional of course! - so we couldn't have it cook our breakfast this morning. Clara kindly volunteered to take its place. Best soufflé maker on Earth, and doesn't do bad bacon EITHER!"

The Doctor flashed Clara a wink, and all the patrons at the table thanked her in turn. She blushed deeply and shrugged all of their praise off.

"Honestly, Doctor! Really guys, it was nothing. Anyone can flip bacon in a frying pan!"

The Doctor raised his hand and piped up again. "But no'one does it quite like you. Utterly unique. Best I've had since Raccidon 5."

Craig and Jack exchanged a sly look. Nothing got past them.

Even though the Doctor was a stranger to subtlety.

"So," the Doctor began through an enthusiastic mouthful of bacon. "Shall I drop you and the good Midshipman off at the Trans-galaxian Station?"

Frame looked up. "Actually, it's Captain now."

The Doctor looked surprised and smiled. "That's great!"

"Well, it would have been if my first time out hadn't been massacred by Daleks. They'll take away everything for this..."

Jack laid a reassuring hand on Frame's shoulder. "I won't let that happen, okay. Okay?"

Frame nodded.

The Doctor decided now was the moment to speak his mind. He'd been pondering it, but was worried that because of what they'd just been through it would be a flat-out refusal.

He would understand if he did refuse. But he was secretly hoping he wouldn't.

"Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to join me Jack," he said, openly displaying his eagerness. "Just like old times."

Jack looked conflicted. He put his fork down and rested his hands in front of him on the table.

"Doctor," he started.

"Yes"

"It's not that I don't want to. Oh god, I want to. I love it here, and always will-"

"Then what is it then?" the Doctor stammered. He looked spurned.

"I've been having serious thoughts about starting a family. A real family. With Alonso."

The Doctor was failing to see the picture. "Well, he can come too! I don't mind at all! The Two Captains! We'll be illegal in over one million galaxies!"

Jack smiled wistfully. "Don't make this harder than it needs to be, please. I don't think Alonso wants to be anywhere near danger for the rest of his life. And I want him to be happy. So what he wants, I want."

The look on the Time Lords tore Jack up. Disappointment. Straight-up depression.

"Oh. That's fine. More than fine! I'll drop you off after breakfast."

And with that he returned to his food, head down so as to avoid looking at Jack.

"You know I want to, Doctor. Thank you for understanding."

The Doctor nodded. He had Craig, Clara and K9, right? And Sexy. He wasn't alone! Still... he and Jack went way back. This was the first time the Time Agent had ever openly refused to go with him.

He didn't like to see them age. He didn't like to see the damage.

He especially didn't like endings.

He was picking at the scraps of toast with his fork now, knocking them around the plate. He was aware that everyone at the table was staring with disbelief at his child-like demeanour.

He just didn't care.

Finishing his mouthful, the Doctor raised his napkin to his lips, then stumbled out of the room.

Clara looked round at the other faces at the table. They were all looking back at her expectantly.

She sighed loudly. "Fine. I'LL go and see if he's okay then."

She stood up, tucked her chair in, and followed in the Doctor's footsteps.

(:-TFOTS-:)

Suffice to say, Reginald did not take the news about the Great Detective as well as Byron had.

In fact, he'd been out in a cold faint for far longer now than any man or woman Byron had ever seen.

The maid called Jenny was tending to him, putting ice on his forehead and a pillow beneath it. The butler Strax was watching with curiously morbid fascination.

"Humans! They have some of the weakest spirits in a mammal I have yet seen! Have they not considered introducing a carbon-based nervous system? We Sontarans have long since lost the ability to fall unconscious due to shock! They have evidently not strategised the possibility-"

"Shush, Strax," the Great Detective (Who had since introduced herself as Madame Vastra) called to her butler. "You're giving me a headache, and that's quite the accomplishment considering I am cold-blooded!"

Strax was silent. Byron had since noticed the odd shape of his head. Whatever he was dealing with here was possibly as crazy as the Black Chariot itself.

Vastra turned her attention to Byron once more. "So, there have been ten victims now, yes?"

Byron nodded, unusually quiet in the circumstances.

There was a hissing sound. It took a moment for Byron to realize it had come from Vastra herself.

"Then we are dealing with a serial attacker. Possibly a savage, feeding on the lifeforce of living things to sustain it's hunger. If it has been here for a long time, then it's probably an outcast from it's own society."

Jenny took a break from cooling Reginald's brow. "So we've ruled out a human killer, then?"

Vastra held out the grainy photographs that Byron had given her to examine. Jenny took them, and upon looking them over, went very wide-eyed.

"No HUMAN could have done this. These victims have been savaged. This is the work of a highly dangerous organism; loose here in London."

Strax looked very interested all of a sudden. "Ah! At last, an opponent worthy of the glory of Sontah. Fear not, for I will thoroughly annihilate this creature in the name of the Sontaran Empire!"

Vastra shot him a murderous look.

Byron spoke up on his thoughts. "Sontaran Empire? Never heard of it."

Jenny and Vastra both looked at him with undisguised amusement. "Strax... Isn't exactly a local..." Jenny confirmed.

Byron rubbed his chin thoughtfully - his means of trying to prove to himself that he was still in control of the situation.

"Neither are you, Miss Vastra. I may be unwise to this situation, but I am not an unintelligent man. You are all... outsiders to this land, aren't you?"

Vastra looked slightly offended. "Earth is my home, always has been, always will be." She looked around, suddenly appearing a little lonely. "Even if it's not... quite how it was..."

She shook her head to dismiss whatever thoughts she was having.

"I think it's time we go see this for ourselves, don't you Jenny?" she called to her maid.

Jenny grinned fiercely. "I do, yes ma'am!"

Madame Vastra smiled as she produced a long velveted rod. Only when she removed it did it become apparent that it was only a case to conceal a much more interesting artifact.

Or to be more precise, weapon. It was a genuine article Samurai katana!

Byron could hardly believe the insane ride he was taking, but he was never one to resist the pull of the tides.

Strax had produced a similarly dangerous weapon, seemingly from nowhere. His looked like a much more advanced version of the standard-issue pistols that officers of the Metropolitan carried on their beats patrols.

"Will you're companion be alright, Mr Carver?" Vastra asked in a disarmingly sweet voice.

Byron blinked, remembering about Reginald for the first time since he had entered the peculiar house.

"Yes. Yes, I should think so. He's a strong lad, made of tough stuff."

"Yes... yes I can see that," Vastra replied with a smirk as she observed the unconscious Reginald. "Very well. Lead on, Mr Carver. Seems we have an alien ghost to catch!"

(:-TFOTS-:)

The Doctor was fiddling with levers feverishly when Clara entered the control room. He barely noticed her, which irritated Clara a bit.

Oh, how she loved the Doctor. But he could be so childish sometimes! Perhaps even worse than Artie when Clara refused to give him more than one boiled sweet in one day.

So after calling him several times to no avail, Clara was forced to punch him in the shoulder. A little harder than she had intended.

The Doctor whipped round, face overcast with annoyance. "Ow! That really hurt!"

"Then stop being such a baby!" Clara retorted.

"This is MY TARDIS! I can do what I want!" he pouted. Clara folded her arms and looked stern.

"Spoken like a true adult."

As her words sank in, the Doctor realized the elements of truth in them. He looked very ashamed all-of-a-sudden. He fell back into the make-out sofa (as Clara now joyously called it) and took a long breath.

"Sorry."

"That's okay."

"Thank you though - really. Sometimes I need someone to remind me that I'm not a god. To stop me when I go too far. Like on the Dalek ship. You'll always have a place here. You're completely unique, and the best friend I could ask for. So, thank you."

Clara smiled and sat down next to her Time Lord, and rested her hand on his knee. "I can be more than a friend, you know," she whispered softly to his ear with an audible hint of seduction.

The Doctor turned his head to her. At this point he just wanted to SCREAM: Yes! He wanted to embrace Clara, and tell her just how he felt.

But he was waging an internal battle in his mind. His brain was screaming 'no', but his hearts weren't listening. He just wasn't able to come to a conclusion either way, and just sat there looking foolish.

"Come on Doctor!" he thought to himself. "She's perfect. She's beautiful, funny, clever Clara. Everything you need! You don't need to punish yourself anymore."

He opened his mouth wide like a python in some kind of attempt to reply, but the words never came as all of a sudden the TARDIS was shuddering; the great machine rumbling and roaring as it soared out of control through the universe.

"Again?" Clara yelled over the noise.

As the shaking intensified Clara was almost thrown from her seat, but was relieved when the Doctor grabbed her arm and held her in place.

"Gotcha!" he cried. And he certainly had, in every possible way Clara could imagine.

Jack, Craig and Frame had run in by now, and were clinging to the railing for their lives.

"I remember this!" Jack shouted, laughing at the nostalgia.

Finally the great rumbling stopped and the TARDIS was still. They had landed somewhere. SomeWHEN.

Clara loved this part. Every self-respecting companion of the Doctor did. Even Jack couldn't disguise his excitement at the thought of what might lie beyond those familiar blue doors.

There was, after all, only one way to find out.

(:-TFOTS-:)

"Right here."

Bailworth Avenue was one of the murkiest and gloomiest places in all of London. The fog shrouded the entire area, but what could be seen wasn't exactly scenic. Sewage was overflowing from the gutter. Rats scarpered in all directions as Byron and the Paternoster Crew arrived.

Without warning Vastra suddenly ran at one of the slower rats with all the blinding speed of a hunter. The vermin stood no chance. It was devoured in mere seconds by the Silurian and her long, forked tongue.

Vastra turned back to her companions, and smiled sheepishly. "My apologies. How un-ladylike of me to think about my stomach at a time like this!" she hollered, winking at Jenny, who shook her head in a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Byron felt physically revolted, but he managed to keep down the retch building in his throat.

"You were saying, Inspector?" Vastra said sweetly to her associate, who was looking unceremoniously out-of-his-comfort-zone.

But Byron soldiered on nonetheless. "Right here, in this avenue. This is where all of our eyewitness accounts point to. The Black Chariot."

Vastra unslung her travelling bag from her shoulders and pulled out one of the most peculiar devices Byron had (or ever would) see. It was somewhat reminiscent of a metal detector, but complete with a ridiculous-looking trumpet head on the end.

"What is that machine?" Byron asked, eyes wide.

"I doubt you would understand it, Mr Carver" Vastra said smugly.

"Try me."

"This is a Transducing Un-guided Battery Analyser," Vastra replied, without a pause between words. "We like to call it a T.U.B.A. don't we Jenny?"

"We certainly do, Miss!"

Byron closed his eyes in a complacent frown. He was feeling like the butt of a ridiculous joke. "Yes, but what does it do?"

Vastra smiled at the Inspector as she raised the T.U.B.A in the air and began to sweep the area around her, pointing it in all directions. "It Transduces," she spoke slowly, as if to mock Byron's limited understanding.

The T.U.B.A began to make a peculiar electronic bleeping sound as it came online and analysed the surroundings.

Vastra looked curiously at the readings it was displaying. "That's odd. I'm reading both Beta and Gamma signatures in short space. I'll try backing up."

As she did so, Byron persisted to inquire to Jenny. "What are you... looking for exactly?"

Jenny sighed deeply. "We're looking for energy signatures to identify possible causes of the activity of this 'Black Chariot', sir". Notably the dryness of her words was the most apparent when she said 'Sir'. Either her politeness was slipping, or she just didn't care.

"Aha! Jenny, take a look at this!" Vastra called to her companion hurriedly.

"Has the T.U.B.A found anything?"

"It sure has! Take a look at this!"

Jenny read from the instruments readouts, and looked instantly worried. "It's not..."

Vastra nodded fiercely. "It is! Palisade Energy! We're dealing with very bad things here, Jenny."

"Will we be requiring explosive materials?" Strax questioned, unmistakably excited at the hope of using his favourite tools.

"No. At least, not yet," Vastra replied, striking the look of anticipation from the Sontaran's face.

"If we are in fact dealing with a killer with access to Palisade Energy, then we must evacuate this entire area immediately!"

Byron coughed into his gloved hand, raising the Detective's attention.

"Excuse me? Palisade what? What the devil is going on?"

But just then it became inherently apparent that the mysterious energy was the least of Byron's ponderings. For a distinctly unworldly roaring sound indicated the impending arrival of a certain associate of the Paternoster's.

Right before his eyes a St. John's Ambulance Police Telephone Box was materialising. Byron stepped back in alarm as the strange box whipped up the winds and blew the ruffs of his coat.

Finally with a rumble the TARDIS had landed on Bailworth Avenue.

Vastra looked skyward. "What does he want, I wonder?"

Byron was confused as to who 'he' was - that was until 'he' made himself known, popping his head from the box's blue doors.

"Victorian London! Again?" he cried.

Then the impossible man he stepped out from the box, followed by a very pretty but equally unusual young woman. Then by a tall man in a black coat and a round man with messy hair. The four of them then noticed Vastra, Jenny and Strax.

"Oh, it's the Paternoster Gang! Hello again!" he yelled joyously, running up to Vastra and taking her hand in an enthusiastic shake. "Vastra! How are things? How's the wife?"

Jenny piped up with a wave. "Over here Doctor!"

The 'Doctor' man turned his head to her and smiled. Then he noticed Strax behind her, and sprinted over to the little butler, taking his head and locking it within his arm in a friendly but intentionally rough noogie.

"Strax! How are you doing you psychotic potato head?" he chimed cheerfully. The little butler didn't seem to reciprocate the good nature of the greeting, however.

"Sir! You're making me look weak in front of the humans!" he protested as the man drilled into his round head mercilessly.

But the Doctor didn't seem to care. He was just so overjoyed to see his friends again.

"And what do we owe this pleasure?" Vastra cooed.

"What, do you think I planned this? Nah! But whilst I'm here let me introduce you! This is Captain Jack Harkness, the best time agent this side of Gallifrey! Oh, and this is Craig Owens. He works for a call centre, but don't judge! He's really quite lovely!"

"Oy!" the round man shouted.

"And you know Clara."

"Hi!" the brunette woman called, smiling and giving a quick wave of her hand.

The Paternoster Trio exchanged looks.

"But no. We're not here for any particular reason. ...Although! Is that Palisade Energy I detect?" he continued, reaching into his dapper black suit and producing a long metallic stick that he began to wave about like the Ripper with a knife.

Now the jovial attitude of the mysterious 'Doctor' had dissipated completely, to be replaced by a look of concentrated concern.

"Doesn't miss a trick, this one," Vastra grumbled. "Yes, Doctor. We found the Palisade Energy ourselves".

"Ah, but do you know what it means?" The Doctor countered. No'one answered, because they couldn't.

So The Doctor elaborated for them, hands outstretched to mime his words.

"Okay. Palisade Energy is a very particular form of energy, used only in Dark Space. It has symbiotic characteristics, meaning it attaches itself and/or replicates itself to it's hosts to perform a duty."

The Doctor still hadn't addressed Byron. Either because he didn't want to, or more likely because he hadn't yet noticed him.

Byron tried to speak up and regain his control of his own mind, but the Doctor cut him off as he began.

"If there is Palisade Energy here in Victorian London, it means only one thing. So is a crack."

Vastra raised her eyebrows. Or whatever counted for her as eyebrows. "You mean the space/time rifts? The Pandorican Cracks? Doctor, they were closed!"

"And now they're open again. An old battle wound giving the universe more pain. We've got to find it. If I could just triangulate the-"

"Sorry, but who the hell are you? What is going on here?" Byron managed to muster. The Doctor looked at him for the first time.

"Who the hell are YOU?" he asked.

"Byron Carver, Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard. Now, your turn."

"I'm the Doctor."

"Doctor Who?"

A smile crept to the Doctor's lips. "Exactly," he whispered. "I'm starting to like you, Byron."

He then turned to his strange rod which had begun to glow bright green and buzz loudly.

"Now what is that?" Byron asked incredulously. His mind felt like it would blow at any second.

"Sonic Screwdriver."

"Oh now you lot are just taking the-"

Then the air was perpetuated by some of the most horrific screeching Byron had ever heard. It was the ducks at Old Man Robert's house. But it signalled something much worse.

There were ripples in the air and a sense akin to falling through liquid slowly.

"Doctor? What is that?" Clara cried, frowning.

"Something's coming," The Doctor replied. "Everyone back away from the middle of the road."

Unsure of what was going on, but trusting of the Doctor, they did so. Byron, however stayed put, staring into the distance to try and identify the cause of the occurences.

"Byron, what are you doing, come on!" The Doctor yelled.

"I've waited six months for this! I won't let this case stay unsolved for one more minute!"

"Don't be an idiot!" Vastra cried.

There was the distant sound of metal clanking upon stone. Galloping. A horse. It was getting louder and somewhat closer by the second.

Still in Vastra's hands the T.U.B.A was going haywire, with Palisade Energy coming in from all directions.

"For god's sake!" The Doctor pleaded.

Byron ignored them all. He was so close now, to solving everything. He would be a joke no longer.

The hooves were so loud now it was deafening. A few black ripples were swirling at the end of the street.

"He'll die if he stays there!" The Doctor yelled to his companions. "What the hell is he doing?"

"Well stuff this!" Clara exclaimed, suddenly running towards the detective at full speed.

"Clara, no!" the Doctor screamed, utterly terrified.

Then there was a horribly loud whiney and a huge black horse and carriage burst from the black swirlings. It was a horrendous image. The horse was demonic, eyes red and teeth grinding and frothing with saliva. There was no mistaking it for a living creature. It was as close to death as any of them had ever seen.

The Black Chariot.

Clara reached Byron and pushed him away with all of her strength. Then she turned just in time to see the approaching chariot before it tore right through her, zapping her with a full blast of Palisade Energy.

Then it had passed through her, and she fell backwards to the ground without a whisper, skin as ghostly white as the ten others before her.

The scream caught in the Doctor's throat. The world around him was dizzying. He fell to his knees, trying to use his mouth to scream her name, to no avail.

Hot tears poured from the his eyes. It was all his fault. He'd killed her again.

Clara Oswin Oswald. The best soufflé maker on Earth. The most beautiful woman in all of the _universe._

And the woman he loved unconditionally. He'd never told her that either. Now, he never would.

Clara Oswin Oswald. The eleventh victim of the Black Chariot.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**Next Chapter: The Second Funeral of Clara Oswald - 1/6/13 (Don't worry, I'm not like Moffat. _I'm much worse._)**

**Thanks again to everyone who is following the story. At the time of writing the story was 80 followers, which is simply incredible. I never expected this, and thus I hope I can keep every last one of you satiated. If not, I have failed.**

**So if you enjoyed or hated this chapter, please leave a review.**

**In the run-up to the anniversary (so long boohoo!) I will keep posting to this story. it is a long one, and there are many story arcs to be followed. (Some are resolved quicker than others). I want to be as interactive with you lovely fans as I can, so if you want to request anything in terms of story, characters and monsters I'll see what I can do for you. I'm here to entertain you after all. :)**

**Ciao for now amigos!**

**ASouffleToServeTwo**


	12. The Second Funeral of Clara Oswald

-Horriot Station, Gamma Quadrant, Dark Space-

-2341-

"Hurry up and load these damn things. I haven't got all day!"

Fro Rexx sighed deeply for only the first time that evening. He sighed when he wanted to complain but couldn't. In his defence, he did have a lot to complain about.

It was an understatement to say he hated his job. Despised it, actually. But he could only blame himself. He'd had the choice of working in the Horriot Station McDonalds, (Supposedly the oldest restaurant chain in the universe) or in black market dealing.

Even though McDonalds workers had no union, (and their produce was allegedly made of star whale if Access Gamma was to believed) Fro still wished he'd chosen it when the chance was there.

Instead here he was: a low-paid intergalactic organ delivery boy and a slave to the least charming boss on the entire station.

God he hated Salin - if he had the option to he would avoid the guy like the plague. Sadly there was no other work, or at least, no'one willing to hire a delinquent offender like Fro.

He just wished he'd worked harder in school. Instead he'd slacked off classes to be with Jacchi. He'd thought it didn't matter, that she was the one, and they'd be unstoppable together as a force.

She'd dumped him a week after graduation.

His parents had basically disowned him. They'd barely reacted when he told them he was going to Horriot to look for work. Horriot: the most dangerous, low-life, seedy complex in the Gamma Quadrant. Just goodbye and a distant hug.

Well, he couldn't complain too much he supposed. He was among the 10% who were actually working on the station, as opposed to those who just jumped and mugged the few idiots who didn't carry weapons as they walked home along the dimly-lit, dirty streets.

But what the hell were these things he was supposed to deliver today? They looked utterly ridiculous. He was almost certain the order was a prank.

"What kind of person orders three thousand of these things?" Fro asked Salin (choosing perhaps unwisely to voice his opinion) as he packed the strange crates into his ship - the Marauder's Goblet.

"Who cares? Someone who has money to splash, and money that we could do with!" was the reply of his ever-sympathetic superior.

Fro frowned at the contents of the crate he was carrying as he set it down in the Marauder's hold.

"But what are they? I mean, what's inside them?"

"Could be Slitheen dung for all I care! It's not our place to question what the client wants. Just get moving before I dock your pay!"

Fro cussed and picked up the next crate. "Yeah, yeah," he spat under his breath. "Well maybe I'll just keep the money for myself..."

He placed the last crate in the Marauder and closed the ship's hatch with a rusty squeal. The sound was so horrible Fro had to cover his ears. Jesus, his ship needed oiling!

Actually, what it needed was incineration. It was outdated, unreliable and smelt like Salin's armpits. But it was Fro's ship. And admittedly it was the closest thing Fro had to a friend out here. But he didn't dare tell anyone that.

"Right. Get moving, and be back by eight. Otherwise I'll eat your share of the profits. And if I think you've been down with those girls at the club again, you know what I'll do!"

Fro rolled his eyes and pressed the magnetiser button on his ship's cockpit, causing it to lift open. "Yeah, whatever Salin," he called to his boss.

"That's sir to you! Show some damn respect or I'll tear you a new one!" Salin shouted, his irritation at his apprentice bleeding through to his words.

Fro fell into the red leather seat of the cockpit and got comfortable. He noticed a pot noodle on the drive table, and casually swept it to the floor where it joined the ever-growing pile underneath the chair.

He cracked his knuckles, spat on the floor, and keyed in the ignition code. The engine coughed into life, foul-smelling fuel wafting around the rusted piping.

"Marauder ignited," the ship's bored-sounding interface sounded. "This is a warning: Palisade Rotors are unstable. This is a recommendation: Replace Palisade Rotors."

Fro laughed dryly. "This is a f*ck that I'm not giving: Palisade Energy never runs out. It'll be fine, now shut it!"

He instantly felt oddly guilty. He was abusing the only thing that he ranked above. Now he was no better than Salin.

He shook his head furiously to get the horrid image of himself wearing Salin's awful grease-stained dungarees out of his thoughts.

Wearily he pulled the accelerator down, and taxied the rundown ship to the takeoff pad. He paused at the open cargo bay doors, recording the audio log as he was now accustomed to doing for the delivery.

"This is flight number 12297D. Salin's Trustworthy Delivery Goods, Takeoff time: 5.45. Drive speed normal. Destination: London, Earth, 1884. Engage time warp."

Then he pulled up on the drivestick, and accelerated into the crimson-black sky.

-London, 1884-

It may seem like a stupid thing to think, but death truly was the worst experience in life.

It had really hurt, like millions of nuclear bombs exploding beneath your skin.

Or, at least that was the way it felt when Clara Oswald died.

The last thing she remembered was those horrible red eyes and the snarling teeth. And the demonic pounding of hooves on concrete.

Then she'd opened her eyes and her surroundings had changed completely. Lifting her head up to look about her proved to be a big mistake.

Because it was just how she recalled her childhood vicar's description of it.

Purgatory. She was sure of it. The endless blank whiteness in all directions. The swirling fog that snapped at her ankles. And the sense of stillness, like time didn't exist here.

Clara began to think about all the people in her life she adored. The Maitlands. Her dad, Dave.

The Doctor.

Was this it? Would she never see any of them ever again?

Then the panic set in.

She began to pace around the empty white space, arms flailing as she began to break down.

"Where am I?" she said, quietly but the fear beginning to rise in her voice. "I don't know where I am! Doctor? Help me! PLEASE.

But there was no answer.

Of course not.

Tears of distress began to shimmer in Clara's eyes. There was just nothing; nothing or no'one that could help her now.

Only in that moment as Clara fell to her knees and sobbed did the thought occur to her: Was this really Purgatory she inhabited?

Or was she dead and gone, and this was hell?

(-TFOTS-)

He could hear voices, hands pulling at his limp arms. But he ignored them. Nothing mattered to him.

Not any more.

Clara Oswald had been like the universe's gift to him. Given him something to believe in when all his hope was lost. Helping him to open his hearts again when they were cold as ice.

But now the universe had claimed her back. Only, the Doctor wasn't willing to let her go.

He was properly crying, for the first time in hundreds of years. His thoughts were a spiral of guilt, torment and sorrow.

He saw images of all of them: Rose, Martha, Donna, Amy and Rory. The lives that he had intrudes and inadvertently subsequently destroyed.

And now Clara too. Only she was different. He had actually allowed her to become more than just a companion. She was the closest thing he had had to a soulmate since Gallifrey's fall.

The universe had given her to him. The perfect companion with which to see the stars. And he had only gone and fallen in love with her!

Now he remembered why he kept these feelings back. Because they would always end in pain.

Because unlike time itself, all things must end. All beauty must wither and die.

These are the lessons he had ignored. And now they had come back to haunt him.

As he lay there next to her broken & lifeless body, the Doctor saw her every tear, smile and beating of her eyelid in a self-tortuous montage on a loop in his head.

He had PROMISED her everything would be alright. That he would always be there to protect her. And as usual, he had let her down.

Vastra and Jenny were trying to bring him out of his state, to no avail. Craig and Jack were just standing there, the realisation of the cruelty of life fracturing their innocence forever.

Strax, however, was bent over Clara, looking almost like he actually had some medical expertise.

Near to him was Byron, still lying on his back from where Clara had pushed him. Looking bewildered, guilty and harrowed at the same time.

Amongst all the chaos, the Doctor had forgotten about him.

She had died to save him. She didn't even know him. It was his fault.

His fault.

And now the fire that scalded millions in the Time War was rekindled, and the Doctor found himself on his feet, tears dried up, sorrow replaced by something new.

Something concealed, but not forgotten. Something all the more hideous coming from the Doctor.

Hatred.

And then he was charging at the Detective, lifting him up by the lapels of his coat, and slamming him up against the wall.

"Why?" the Doctor screamed into Byron's stunned face. "Why should she have to die for you? You idiot! It should have been you! You deserved to die in her place!"

"Doctor, stop!" Jack cried, as he tried to separate his friend from the Detective. "It's not his fault, Doctor. It's no'one's fault!"

But the Doctor was having none of it. The fire burned brighter as he placed more pressure on the struggling Victorian.

"I'm so sorry!" Byron whispered with genuine remorse dripping from his words. "It should've been me, I know. I'm so sorry."

"Not good enough!" the Doctor screeched. "She was more than you ever could be. You are nothing, do you understand?"

The Detective nodded, a lump in his throat.

The Doctor wanted to punch him. Over and over, until the man knew what it felt like.

But he could see Byron's torture; that he blamed himself. Perhaps even for all the other ten victims too. The case was his prison.

And we all carry our prisons with us.

The Doctor knew this better than anyone.

And so finally forgiveness extinguished the fire, and he let go of Byron and collapsed under the weight of his legs (and his guilt).

What was happening to him? He didn't do this to people! Since when did the right of punishment become the duty to die?

It made him - deservedly -very afraid. He was closing the gap between him and the Valeyard. And once the path is chosen, it can never be chosen again.

He remembered now why he couldn't tell Clara how pretty she was (stunning, really), or how he really adored her funny little nose.

Because love would both make his life and destroy it.

There was a tap on the Doctor's shoulder and he turned to see Strax.

"Sir. I have an important battle analysis for you to-"

"Please, Strax. Not now," the Doctor pleaded with his head in his hands. "Clara's dead. I don't want to hear anything you have to say right now."

Strax rolled his eyes, an unusual gesture for a battle-hardened psychopath. "Yes. The boy is not dead."

"She's a girl, Strax. And no, she quite clearly is dead. Now please leave me alone!" The Doctor was getting annoyed now. Couldn't he see he wasn't in the mood for this?

"The 'girl' is alive, sir. Her life signs are small, and rapidly deteriorating, but they are there."

The Doctor's head shot up. He knew it was almost certainly false hope. But if there was even the slightest chance Clara could be alive, he had to cling to that hope with two hands. "Are you sure?"

Strax sighed. "Yes. Sir. The 'girl' is quite the soldier. Her muscles are inactive but the brain continues to impulse."

The Doctor stood up so quickly Strax was staggered back. "Let me see!"

He grabbed the medical device from the Sontaran's grubby fingers and scanned his eyes over the readings.

Then a smile crept to his lips.

Joy began to flood through his body, purging the self-hatred and guilt from every cell in his body.

"Yes! Oh Strax, thank you! Thank you!" he cried energetically, grabbing the Sontaran and planting a kiss on it's egg-shaped noggin, much to Strax's irritation and revulsion.

"Sir, please!" he protested, vigorously wiping his head. "I do not wish to engage in biological warfare with you, but if you do that again you will leave me with no choice!"

"Doctor?" Vastra called. "What is it?"

The Time Lord turned to look at the Silurian. He was grinning like a madman. Any signs that he had moments before been a broken man were all but gone. Hope glittered in his thousand-year-old-eyes, and his joy was contagious.

"A miracle, Madame Vastra," he said softly, before losing control over his overwhelming positive emotions and shouting: "A real-life MIRACLE!"

And it was.

Because Clara Oswald was indeed alive.

(-TFOTS-)

-Three Weeks Earlier-

The pain was worst when he tried to move, so Fro Rexx didn't attempt to try and lift the weight pressing down on him again that day.

It was a living hell. Plunged into eternal darkness and in constant agony. Nothing in his life could ever compare with the sense of hopelessness in his situation.

He'd been here for at least three months now. The life support machines had kept him alive, feeding him through tubes.

He really wished they wouldn't, though. He just wanted to die, like he should have in the initial impact all that time ago. It seemed like a horrible thing to say, but by now Fro just wanted the pain to end. His hope was lost like a child in an amusement park.

Oh, all the torturous thoughts that ran through his head in the maddening silence. He'd never made peace with his parents.

He hadn't meant what he'd said to them, about hating them.

Of course he didn't hate them. He LOVED them. And now they would never know.

He'd never gotten to quit his job with Salin either. He'd always planned to, when he got a real job in Sport.

It wasn't unrealistic, he'd always told himself. One day, he really would just go and out and do it.

Idiotic as it might seem, the satisfaction Fro would get from seeing the grumpy old man's face would be worth all the suffering he'd been put through whilst doing this job.

They crawled in and out of his ears like flesh-eating insects. The bad thoughts. The musings of a life wasted.

Fro was sure he was close to insanity. He'd begun to whisper to himself at times, if for nothing but a desperate attempt at amusing himself in the infinite boredom of the situation.

He talked to the metallic corpse of the Marauder, patting his long-dead hunk of steel with his one free arm.

His best friend, he'd said.

He'd just never imagined being with it at the end.

So bad the imminent madness was that Fro could be forgiven for completely missing the voices. Quiet, but getting louder. Closer. But they were just hallucinations of his mind, surely?

No'one was coming for him. Not on this desolate planet. Earth. A rubble of a civilisation.

But then the man stepped into view in the corner of Fro's vision. The man with the top hat, the cane, and the sneer.

Fro couldn't believe it. Was the man here to help him? After all this time, was he going to get out of here?

In his excitement he tried to call out to the man, but the force of the wreckage pinning him down against his diaphragm caused his voice to trail off in a heavy, wracked coughing fit.

The man just looked on at Fro, emanating a cold indifference to Fro's difficult situation. Then he turned to the space in the tunnel behind him from where he had entered.

"Here," the man called out, seemingly to no'one. "I've found them." His voice was as chilly as his stare, a harsh yet strangely soft sound with connotations of a uniformly and cruel military officer.

There was simply no regard for human life in his speech.

But 'them'? Not 'him?' Suddenly Fro felt incredibly angry and nauseous at the same time. The man clearly wasn't here to help him. In fact, Fro caught the drift that the man genuinely couldn't care less about him.

There were footsteps echoed in the tunnel, followed by the emergence of two cloaked associates. They were facing the original man when they entered, so at first Fro only noticed that they wore identical clothing.

He thought THAT was odd. But then the two turned to look at him. And he saw their faces.

Or more accurately, their complete lack of them. The places where eyes, noses and ears should be were just empty, plain white to match their ghostly shade of skin. Strangely they did have mouths, but as they opened to snarl at Fro, rows of unnaturally sharp teeth glistened inside them.

He was dreaming. He'd passed out, and was imagining this insanity. He'd finally succumbed to the clutches of madness.

Anything Fro could cling to rationalise this situation, he did. But the blank men did not disappear when he frantically blinked his eyes. In fact, they were closing on him now, walking towards him with a creepy confidence that meant they didn't feel the need to run.

Fro couldn't breathe. He was sure his heart had stopped. His mouth tasted bitter, distastefully diluted by the bile rising in his throat.

The faceless entities reached him, and leered over him. They were clearly waiting for further instructions from their boss.

The man kept his distance, almost like he was repulsed by Fro. He pointed at the dented hold of the Marauder.

"In there. Bring them to me," he ordered his underlings, who hissed as if to signify their obedience.

Fro finally found his voice. "Can't you... help me? Please!" he begged, coughing bitterly again as he forced the words from his mouth.

A small smile crept to the man's lips. "Yes. Of course. Momentarily. First, I want to check that my delivery is satisfactory."

The two faceless entities had attempted to open the hold, but screeched horribly as they were repelled by an unseen force. The barrier.

The man sighed. "If you'd be so kind as to give us the code...?"

Fro shook his head. "Get me out of here first."

"Yes, yes. I said I'd help you, and I will. But code first."

Annoyed as Fro was with the man's stubbornness, he saw no alternatives. He relented. "1234".

The man placed a hand over his face. "Idiots," he murmured under his breath. Only when the entities hissed again did Fro realise he had been referring to them.

One of the blank entities had now entered the vault code, opened the hold and was fumbling inside for its contents, whilst the other continued to stand by Fro, silently menacing him.

Fro was puzzled. "You're the... client? The one I'm supposed to be delivering these to?"

A nod. And a twisted grin to accompany it. "My courier was late. I had to take matters into my own hands."

Fro frowned as he tried to remember where it had all gone wrong. The man saw his efforts. "Oh, no need to strain that tiny mind of yours. I have the answers. You fell through the vortex, through a crack in the skin of the universe. You crashed here and became stuck. Am I warm?"

Fro's blood ran cold. The man's description was faultless. He remembered it now in all the terrible detail.

The intense white light. The falling sensation.

And the actual falling.

"But... how do you know that?" he asked weakly. The man shrugged exaggeratedly. "I hear that's the trouble with the time vortex these days. You just can't get the service," he muttered, lacking a shred of empathy. The man was enjoying this.

"Just... get me out of here! Please!" Fro whimpered.

The man frowned. The facade of pleasantry was all-but-gone now, replaced by a sinister honesty.

"Did I say that? No, I said I would HELP you. I didn't say I'd get you out."

The realiziation hit Fro like a brick. "What? But you can't just leave me here!"

The faceless man had gotten what he'd been looking for. The crates. He carried them effortlessly to his master, who cracked open the lid and smiled at the contents.

"Yes. Late, but you lot always get the job done."

Fro felt the anger rising in his blood. The man had taunted him, patronised him and downright manipulated him. Now he planned to just abandon him!

"You monster! Help me for god's sake!" he shouted desperately as the man turned to walk away. The man stopped, and looked over his shoulder.

"Deal with him," he ordered, before striding away.

"No! Help me!" Fro cried after the man. But the man didn't even pause.

Next to him the faceless entity was now reaching out a gloved hand towards where the wreck of the Marauder was crushing his torso.

Just when he thought the creature couldn't be more unnerving, it spoke.

Or more accurately, whispered. In a horrendously unnatural voice.

"Fro Rexx...," it muttered. "Crushed by life. Forgotten by all those he loves. Never forgiven for carrying that knife."

Knife? No. There was no way.

But what the creature whispered rang true. His parents had disowned him for being part of a gang.

But no'one except him and them knew that. It was a secret.

His biggest secret.

"Useless in breath, coldest in death," the rasped whispers continued, the creature's black glove now touching the rubble. Then, as if it were made of sand, it passed straight through the steel, and buried itself in Fro's flesh.

His breath caught in his mouth. His heartbeat increased. Then stopped altogether as the hand reached his chest

"Please," Fro pleaded in a tiny voice. The last word he would ever mutter.

"The criminal delivery boy working fifteen hours," the entity whispered, its voice hardly even synchronised with the moving of its lips. "Your secrets are ours."

The hand closed around Fro's heart.

And then with one swift movement, the Whisperman pulled it straight out.

(-TFOTS-)

"Alright gang, here's the plan".

Vastra rolled her eyes. The Doctor's plans never turned out to be great. She recalled Yorkshire, when his plan to get to Miss Gillyflower had almost gotten him killed.

But now it was Clara at stake, so she was ready to listen. She could tell how much the Doctor cared about her. And if the Doctor cared for her, then so did she.

The Doctor clasped his hands together, and when he was sure everyone was listening, began to lay out his master-plot.

"Okay. So we all know that the situation is bad. But there is hope that we can still save Clara, and I for one will never dismiss this hope."

Everyone assembled nodded. "We're with you Doctor," Craig said, sounding braver and more determined than he looked.

"I was hoping you'd say so," the Doctor replied, smiling gratefully at all his companions. "So. The Black Chariot. Are you ready to know the truth?"

No'one argued. Where he was sat away from the crowd, Byron raised his head from where it had been resting on his palms, his interest now piqued.

The Doctor looked knowing. "It's a beacon, from a crashed spaceship. Precisely: a Dark Space harrier, second class. The spaceship took a sensory reading of its surroundings, took an image of something from the time period so it would only stand out to a rescue team. My guess: the ship tapped into the idea of a horse and carriage. Even if it looked all wrong."

Jenny looked at Vastra, who shrugged. "How can you tell?" Vastra asked.

"Petrol," the Doctor replied, sounding somewhat smug at his intelligence. "I could smell it ever since we arrived. Fusion Core Boosters. Powered by..." He paused, gesturing his hands to indicate he wanted his listeners to finish his sentence.

"Palisade Energy" Jack said. The Doctor gave him the thumbs up.

"Right on, Captain. Illegal except in the Shadow Sector. The harrier pilots must be making black market trades through hyperspace. Risky. If the Atraxi found their shipping trail, they'd be all-but signing their own prison sentence."

There was undisguised anger in the Doctor's voice as he continued his analysis. "Whoever's behind this has no regard for the wellbeing of their employees. And the danger to the locals of a Level Four planet. I'd better not find them once Clara is safe."

He shook off the threat in his words, returning his full attention to the task at hand. "Palisade Energy is thoroughly lethal to the touch. It divides itself in the cells, multiplying across your body in nanoseconds." He trailed off, remembering Clara's awful fate. "None of these people stood a chance."

"Because of the danger assiciated with just being close to the stuff, there needs to be a supply of Gloocagen on board as well."

Jenny held in her inappropriate laughter. Sometimes the Doctor sounded like he was making half of it up on the spot!

"Gloocagen has regenerative powers. The attempt by Shansheeth Engineers to reproduce the DNA of a Time Lord. If we can get to it in under four hours, we can regrow Clara's cells. And save her."

So the plan was set in stone. But Vastra was more than a little concerned. Was four hours enough? But she didn't want to lessen the Time Lord's confidence, if it kept him fighting.

Luckily for her Jack voiced the concern so that she didn't have to.

"It WOULD be a problem, if we didn't have with us the most effective detector in all of time and space," the Doctor assured him.

"The T.U.B.A?" Vastra queried, tightening her grip on the flamboyant device.

The Doctor smirked and raised his eyebrows. "No. A dog." Then he placed his fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply.

In response, the ever-reliable K9 trundled from the TARDIS' open doors.

Vastra opened her mouth in amazement. Jenny gave in to her suppressed laughter. Strax raised his weapon.

"Shall I dismember this primitive AI?" the Sontaran asked.

"Just you try, Strax," the Doctor cried, full of pride for his robotic pet.

K9, sensing the aggression from Strax, fired a small white beam from his mouth, which connected hard with the Sontaran's gun, turning it to ashes.

Strax screamed like a little girl as his weapon was vaporised. It was the oddest sound imaginable to be heard coming from a battle-hardened clone warrior.

"That was my favourite gun!" Strax yelled as if the Doctor would suddenly care. "I carried that gun from Sontah all the way to this heap of rubble you call 'Earth'. It never let me down!"

The Doctor shrugged. "I never liked a gun anyway. We do this my way. No weapons."

Strax folded his arms and began to sulk.

"Okay K9," the Doctor instructed as he crouched down to meet his robotic companion. "Can you run a scan for Palisade Energy signatures? Find the source."

"Affirmative, master," the dog replied, before extending a probe from its head that began to bleep.

"Pathetic robot mammal..." Strax was muttering under his breath. "Could have done way better with a gun, but no!"

Vastra took the opportunity to talk to the Doctor as K9 got to work. There was something bugging her.

"Doctor, you still haven't told us who she is. Clara. How can she be here when she's buried in a graveyard two miles away?" Vastra was worried that she would offend the Doctor, but he just nodded.

"I don't know either. She could be a trick, or a trap, or... Oh, I dunno. She's just... my impossible girl... Clara Oswin Oswald."

Sighing, Vastra continued. It was difficult for her to say without sounding cruel or spiteful, but it had to be said.

"You know that the Palisade Energy should have killed her outright. She's still alive. There's no way you can say that's normal."

The Doctor kept his head trained on the fallen Clara, who was being tended to be by Craig and Jack. God help him, she was still beautiful. Even with her bloodshot pupils and ghostly white flesh. Just beautiful.

He'd even fancy her as a Dalek. Oh wait...

Vastra noticed his gaze, and put a hand on his shoulder as a gift of comfort which he seemed hesitant to accept.

"There's more, isn't there?" she said softly. The Doctor nodded. He looked pained but uplifted at the same time as he considered the implications of what he was about to say. It was strange, but then that was it did to you.

"Love," he answered at last. "Vastra, I think I've fallen in love with her."

The Silurian looked slightly taken aback by the strength of his feeling. She regained her composure after a second of looking rather dumbstruck.

"I didn't think a Time Lord could ever fall in love with a human," she whispered. "But then you never were a by-the-books Time Lord, were you?"

The Doctor exhaled deeply. "No. We were never supposed to submit to any kind of feelings for humans. Because it was considered to be IMPURE, and as such a heresy of the highest order. I thought for a long time that they were wrong. But they weren't. Keepers of Time who could never interfere. I finally realize now," he continued, pausing to let the impact of his words settle in. "It's me who is wrong. I'm not a true Time Lord. I never know why. Or when. But when I fall in love, I just know who. And that's all that matters."

Vastra put her arm fully around the Time Lord, surprising him. "Love shouldn't have to be explainable," she declared. "Love doesn't need to be controlled. If it is, it isn't real love."

The Doctor looked at her. "So, you think I should just try and take a shot at happiness? With whoever I love?"

"I think you already have, and you just wanted me to say it. So... yes. I think you should be with Clara. The Silurians wouldn't be happy with me either for falling in love with Jenny. But you know what the Silurians aren't?"

She smiled mischievously. "Here."

The Doctor laughed playfully. "That's why I love you Vastra." He coughed loudly into his hand as he saw the expression on Jenny's face, who was watching. "In a completely platonic way."

"Of course," Vastra smiled gently.

A loud bleep got the trio's attention. K9 had found the source of the Palisade energy.

"Baker Street. 2.5 Miles below ground level, Master."

The Doctor frowned. "Below? Are you sure?"

K9's sensors whirred in acknowledgement. "Affirmative."

"Good job, K9. Okay, gang, here's where he go from here. Vastra, Jenny and Strax, you're with me. Craig, Jack and K9 - stay here and -keep her alive-, you hear me?"

Craig nodded. Jack did not, instead looking defiant. "No. I'm coming with you. It could be dangerous!"

"That's what I'm counting on," the Doctor replied with a smile. He stood in a upright position, and raised his hand to salute the Captain.

Jack looked torn, but eventually relented to the Doctor's wishes. He saluted the Doctor, then quickly flipped him the bird.

Grinning widely, the Doctor proceeded to bend down next to Clara's lifeless body. He ran his hand through her hazelnut hair, until his fingers graced her soft skin.

His voice cracked up slightly as he addressed her as his own personal Sleeping Beauty.

"Hey," he whispered. "You're going to be fine. I'm going to get you out of here. And then you're going to finally teach me how to make a soufflé."

He had to bite on his hand to stop the emotion choking his words as he mentioned soufflés.

"Never mind. I'd just burn them anyway. I could never be on that level of perfection. As perfect as you always are."

He kissed the top of her head, and felt a slight breath escape her lips and brush against his face. It's warmth served as the fuse to the Doctor's strength. He was suddenly a braver, more determined man than ever before in his life.

She'd saved him, back in the Asylum. And then in Victorian London. Brought him back from the edge of despair, and given him hope. A new lease of life. To make him WANT to live again.

Clara Oswald had given him purpose. And he had given her both his hearts.

"I'll see you soon, Soufflé Girl," he whispered before rising to his feet, and turning to his waiting companions.

"Right then! If I'm not gravely mistaken, we have a sewer to crash!"

(-TFOTS-)

She heard him!

She had heard the Doctor. He was coming to save her!

Clara Oswald had all-but given up hope. She'd been expecting Death to turn up at any moment to claim her soul. In his black robes, and carrying his crooked scythe.

But now - her Doctor was coming to rescue her.

Words escaped her, the strong emotions she was feeling towards that man. She knew she could always rely on him to save her. He was her knight in armour.

She was sitting on the white 'floor' of whatever she was supposedly in, her thoughts only of her Doctor, when the woman materialised in front of her.

Startled, Clara almost fell over backwards.

"Who are you?" she asked the woman, who was dressed in very strange materials and whose face obscured by a veil.

"A friend with a message," the woman affirmed, her face unreadable beneath the veil. "I'm sorry that I can only communicate in this way. I'd love to meet you in person."

Clara realised her mouth was open and shut it. She was puzzled beyond belief by this woman, but felt no threat from her. Mainly because she presumed she was a hallucination.

"I don't have long, so you must listen," the woman continued hurriedly. "When you wake, you must tell the Doctor. He must be told: The Fields of Trenzalore are burning. He must never go there. Do you understand?"

Clara nodded uncertainly. The veiled woman smiled. "I really am sorry to intrude your mind like this. But we can never meet in person, or else all is lost. The Doctor is a lucky man to have such a beautiful girl by his side. Please look after him for me."

Then she vanished right in front of Clara's eyes, leaving her alone once again with her many thoughts.

(-TFOTS-)

The Doctor grimaced as his feet squelched in the slime of the sewer tunnel. They were his finest shoes. But he ignored it the best he could, a more important notion pushing him onwards.

The things he'd do for love.

Vastra, Jenny and Strax followed briskly. Vastra looked perfectly at home in the dim lighting and odorous atmosphere. Jenny looked equally repulsed as the Doctor. Strax looked completely indifferent. The Doctor got the feeling that the Sontaran wouldn't care if he had to tread through the bodies of his own kind.

And then the shadow, in hot pursuit of the gang. It ducked behind, certain that its stealth would keep its presence unseen.

Sadly it was anything but subtle, and finally no longer able to simply ignore it, the Doctor turned around and faced it.

"Detective, I didn't tell you to follow us."

Byron Carver edged his way out of the shadow and looked sheepish.

"I wanted to help you. It's my fault that you have to come down here. I want to make amends for my stupidity."

The Doctor folded his arms. "Too bad. You'll just get in our way. Turn back now."

Byron shook his head. "Please. This case is my life."

"Then you need to get another, Detective" Vastra called.

The foursome continued onwards, pacing themselves to put distance between Carver and them.

Byron was a stubborn mule, however. He continued to follow them at an average pace now that his subterfuge had been discovered.

As he turned the corner after them, Byron gasped loudly to be met with a strange figure blocking his way.

Actually, strange didn't cut it. The figure was so unnervingly inhuman it actually made Byron yelp slightly as he laid his eyes on its face. A green skull-like head with beady black eyes staring coldly at him.

The figure wore a creased black suit which looked very odd on the creature. Its arms hung loosely at its sides, and its elongated fingers were clutching something. A canister of some sort, containing a blue fluid.

The others hadn't seemed to have seen the creature. It stood still, staring menacingly at Byron, but without saying a word.

But then suddenly it raised its other arm at Byron in an intimidating fashion, and bolts of lightning began to crackle and fizz between its long fingers.

Instinctively Byron reached for his side pistol, which was holstered in his coat.

He raised it at the creature, which was now opening its mouth in a seemingly endless screech as the electricity in its hand reached full charge.

-BANG!-

The foursome heard the gunshot as it ricocheted down the narrow sewer tunnels. Greatly concerned, they turned round and ran back through the passage towards the sound.

Arriving in the junction, the Doctor saw a very worrying situation. Byron Carver stood opposite him, breathlessly staring in the direction that his bullet had travelled. He seemed unharmed.

So that was the good news.

The bad news: his target was a Silent. The dangerous alien assassins that had kidnapped Amelia Pond, stolen her newborn baby, and tried to kill the Doctor by the shore of Lake Silencio.

He wasn't at all pleased to see them.

First St. Marks, and now here. They were very persistent in their aims. 'Silence MUST fall', or so they believe.

But it wasn't simply its presence which angered the Doctor, but its purpose. The canister it carried told the full story.

Now seething with rage, the Doctor stormed over to the wounded Silent, and pulled the Sonic Screwdriver on it, brandishing it like a dagger in front of it's unblinking face.

"How dare you," the Doctor began, failing to control his anger. "How dare the Silence use the people I love to get to me. Gloocagen you've got there, is it? Trying to make sure that I can't save Clara. BIG mistake. Dangerous mistake. To try and use her in your war, you have just made your final mistake."

The Silent looked up at the Time Lord, and like Moriarty to Holmes, the two arch enemies stared broodingly and with undisguised hatred at each other.

"The girl is the catalyst," the Silent spoke in a gutturally deep voice, its hand pressed to its wound. "She must be destroyed, so that silence will fall."

The Doctor slammed his palms down hard, shocking even Strax. "The only silence that will fall is yours, Silence."

The green alien hissed malevolently, indicating that it wasn't intimidated by the Time Lord.

The Doctor clasped his hands together to channel his rising temper. "When you mess with the woman I love, you awaken the side of me even I'm afraid of. The side of me that caused whole armies to turn and flee at the very whisper of my name."

He gripped his screwdriver, and the light changed to that of a blood-red. None of his companions had ever seen this transformation. Vastra was very worried all-of-a-sudden.

"Doctor, what are you doing?" she asked, frowning at the screwdrivers red tip.

"Sending a message," the Doctor replied, attention still on the Silent. "I'm extrapolating the radiowaves in my screwdriver to target the Silent's biology. I can use it to remotely melt its mind."

Jenny and Vastra gasped loudly in genuine horror at the sincerity of his words. Strax looked somewhat approving.

Since when did a Doctor kill people? The name means healer, to make people better. What he was going to do disgraced his own name.

What he was willing to do in the name of Clara Oswald.

"Doctor, no!" Vastra cried. "There's always another way!"

The Doctor shook his head firmly. "Not this time. A message must be sent to Kovarian. No more. She won't mess with the people I love ever again."

"His soul is revealed," the Silent gurgled. "The healer of men becomes a killer in the end. You should have just died at Silencio, Doctor. But now your selfishness will destroy her too."

"Not today."

The Screwdriver lit up brightly and the Silent began to emit a horrible screeching sound as its blood began to boil.

The Doctor gritted his teeth and watched with uncharacteristic satisfaction as his enemy writhed in pain.

The Silent was in agony, but as the Doctor watched it managed to raise the arm with the Gloocagen canister still held within its fingers. The Doctor realised too late what it was about to do.

"The fuse," the Silent screamed as the pain began to shatter its bones. "Is lit!"

Then it smashed the canister all over the floor, spilling every last drop of the Gloocagen into the dark green swamp of urine and rat droppings.

"No!" the Doctor yelled when it was far too late.

"He will have many names before the end," the Silent roared with the last of its strength, knowing its death was close. "Storm, beast, Valeyard. But Silence will fall."

Then it fell forward on its front, very much dead.

Falling to his knees in the sludge, the Doctor swept his hands desperately yet pointlessly for any of the Gloocagen.

He knew it was too late. The Gloocagen was too heavily diluted. Even if he could retrieve any of it, it would just kill Clara faster if she ingested it.

But he didn't want to accept it. Because he knew what it meant.

Clara Oswald couldn't be saved.

She was going to die.

And now, it really was his fault.

(-TFOTS-)

Jack Harkness, Craig Owens, Captain Frame and K9 were all gathered around Clara in the middle of the street.

Jack had brought out a stretcher he had found inconspicously hanging about in the TARDIS hold, and with Craig's help, they had laid Clara on top of it.

It was unfortunate that the way she was lain made her look like a corpse in a casket at a funeral. At peace, with her hands folded on her chest.

Jack couldn't deny her beauty. But he was wise enough to see the relationship she had with the Doctor, and so he had decided to keep away. He was glad that his old friend had finally found a soul mate. He couldn't bear the thought of him ever travelling alone.

But he was admittedly very worried. If the Doctor couldn't save her in time, he was concerned for what would become of the Time Lord.

The wait for him to reappear was unbearable. None of them were speaking, probably due to the grim atmosphere. But their silence wasn't helping anything, so Craig broke it.

"So Jack," he began. "How long have you known the Doctor?"

Jack rubbed his chin. "That depends on whether you count the many lives I've lived. Which I've lost count of."

"Uh-huh."

"We'll call it 300 years," Jack decided, smiling.

Craig laughed, despite the situation, even though he was certain it wasn't a deliberate joke.

"Are you the Doctor's latest bimbo?" Jack asked, with all his trademark flirting.

Craig shifted uneasily. "No. No, honestly, we're just mates, that's all!"

Jack laughed warmly. "I'm only kidding with you!" As his laughter died down, he gave Craig a serious look.

"But you do know what you're signing up for here, don't you?" he said, eyes trained on the fellow companion.

Craig looked uncertain. "What do you mean?"

"It can be very dangerous, travelling with the Doctor. It's not the place for you to bring your loved ones."

By that, Craig could tell he was referring both to Frame and Alfie.

Craig nodded. He knew the risks. After all, he had seen several people killed by that hologram at the top of his stairs. And not to mention those 'Cybermen' things in the department store. But he was fiercely loyal to the Doctor. He knew that there were some bad odds stacked ip against his friend.

And he wanted to help him overcome them. Because that's what friends are for.

Jack could see his loyalty, and required no answer. To see such brave friendship between a Time Lord and a human in such a short space of time reminded Jack of the positive effects the Doctor has on the lives of everyone he encounters.

It also made him remember that he too was a loyal friend of the Doctors. He couldn't abandon him. Not with all these cracks that seemed to be worrying him so. He knew the Doctor would always do the same for him.

He made the conscious decision right there and then that he would accompany the Doctor once more. If Clara was to die, he needed all the companionship he could get.

Yet Jack chose to believe that Clara would be absolutely fine. The Doctor would return, cure in hand, and save the girl as he always did.

But then the Doctor appeared at the end of the street, and the look of despair and defeat sprawled over his face completely destroyed this belief once and for all.

(-TFOTS-)

Byron could do nothing but watch as the short-lived hope in the Doctor died a painful death, and the charismatic enigma collapsed, utterly defeated, into the deep grime of the sewer floor.

He could relate to such emotions. He too had felt nothing but despair after Arianna had died. The cold devoid emptiness that filled his soul.

Arianna hadn't been his wife, oh no. They had been two kindred souls, alone and with burdens, but still hoping for love in their lives.

Arianna - an escort, as she liked to be known. But the dirtier of her cliental called her a prostitute. She did what she had to for her living expenses. But then she became pregnant; the offspring of one of her less considerate customers, who had promptly moved away from where she could contact him. Yet, she persevered, raising the child to the best of her ability even when she couldn't feed herself. Byron had always admired her endurance: like a house in a storm.

And then him, a young detective whose reputation amongst his colleagues led him to drink in the lowest bars in London to try and forget. A man so pitifully obsolete, even the rats steered well away from his unconscious body when it was dragged and thrown out into the alleys they inhabited.

He had been a wreck. But then, as if by fate itself, he had met her. Sniffling in the alley, worn dress ripped from where a particularly nasty patron had gotten overexcited. She had passed him when he reached out his hand to her. He expected her to kick him away like the tramp he was, but she could see the good in him, and she had taken his hand, and let him lead her away from that terrible place.

It had all escalated from there. It shouldn't have happened. It just seemed impossible that the two of them would click into place like the pieces of the same puzzle they were. The policeman and the prostitute.

But Byron regretted nothing. She had straightened his life up, and given him something to live for.

Something to fight for.

He had returned to the station and confronted his superiors. Demanded their respect. They'd just laughed him out of course, until he'd returned hours later bringing with him the infamous Potbelly Peter in cuffs and begging for mercy.

He owed Arianna everything. And she would always own his heart. The pain he'd suffered that day when she finally succumbed to her illness. It haunted him every time he closed his eyes.

But he would always love her. His devotion outshone his grief. She had matured him, made him the person he'd always wanted to be.

So he hadn't been afraid that day. He'd been decisive, not even hesitating in his decision to look after her infant son. To raise him as his own, as his father.

And did he love that boy, for all his faults and the time he spent driving Byron up the wall. Because he was a reminder that death could never part true love. Everything that Arianna ever was he saw in Reginald. Her kindness, her goodwill.

Her bravery still needed time, but Byron knew he would come through. He never told Reginald that he wasn't his father. Why ruin a good thing?

But now Byron was going away from the point. He could understand completely the pain that the Doctor was feeling. The loss of the one person who could make you whole.

That was why the guilt was consuming him, compelling him against rational action to try and mend his errors.

It didn't make it any less heartbreaking though; watching the grief of a lover. He was finding it hard to watch.

It seemed that the Vastra woman felt the same way. She was kneeling by the weeping Doctor, arms around him.

The strange creature that had attacked him was lying still, face-down in the slime.

Byron was stabbing himself metaphorically. If he'd been quicker to shoot the monster, could the day have been saved?

But it seemed that the day could only get worse. A loud klaxon-like noise suddenly erupted from somewhere further along the tunnel, the echoes from it carrying the racket all the way through the labyrinthine tunnel network.

Everyone looked around. Even the Doctor, who now wore the look of a man who knew that there were some really big fish to fry.

"Mistress," Strax the butler said impatiently. "Now is the prime oppurtunity to discuss why not equipping a gun was a very bad military tactic."

The Doctor stood up, wiping at his tears with his sleeve. There was real panic in his eyes now.

"Oh no," he whispered.

"Doctor?" Jenny asked.

"Oh no."

"What is it ma'am?" Jenny asked Vastra, who looked equally worried.

"It's the Palisade Engines on the ship," Vastra began, looking to the Doctor for support.

"When the Silence removed the Gloocagen tanks, the drive core must have become unstable," the Doctor continued for Vastra. "The ship's going to explode. That was the thirty minute evacuation warning."

"Then we need to stop it!" Jenny cried. Then she remembered. "Sorry. I mean, I know about Clara..."

"She must have twenty minutes by now," the Doctor spoke softly. "Like an idiot, I've wasted the time down here. I need to be with her. Please... I'm sorry. Please understand."

Vastra nodded with genuine understanding to him. "You don't need to explain yourself to us, Doctor. Go to her. Run."

The Doctor gave them a grateful smile, and turned and ran down the passage.

Vastra turned to Jenny and Strax. "We have a mission. We have to disable the Palisade Engine in twenty-nine minutes or else London will be a smoking crater."

Her compadres nodded. Vastra looked about them, like an army commander sizing up his ranks, and assessing their strengths.

"Strax!"

"Yes, miss."

"I hope you remember your Advanced Explosives Rewiring Class from Sontah."

"The very basics of war are written in my clone gene code, Miss," the Sontaran retorted, bemused. "I will disarm this bomb like a puny human skeleton."

Vastra put her hands together. "Great. Okay, Jenny. I need you to steady the energy drives in the cockpit. We can't have the flow killing Strax whilst he's in there."

"Yes, miss."

"I'll be siphoning the Palisade Energy into the T.U.B.A," Vastra added, before actually addressing Byron for the first time since he'd been there. "And you, Detective."

Byron felt like a rabbit in the headlights; but a useless one with one leg that just got run over.

"I fear I will be of no use here."

Vastra shook her head with a smile. "Nonsense. You know how to hold things, right?"

(-TFOTS-)

Jack didn't need to ask the Doctor. He knew what the answer would be.

The Time Lord was only looking to talk to one person now. And that was the woman he loved.

He passed Craig, giving him a solemn pat on the shoulder.

"We did our best Doctor," the companion said, not sounding utterly convinced. "She's only got minutes."

Nodding gravely, the Doctor signalled that he wanted to be left alone with Clara. His two companions willingly obliged, walking off into the fog.

When he was certain that they were alone, the Doctor kneeled down next to her, and placed his hand inside hers. He felt a slight movement in the hand, like Clara was trying to hold onto him through her unconsciousness.

Struggling to hold back a new wave of tears, the Doctor began his speech. He'd been rehearsing it, but knowing he'd end up improvising most of it anyway.

"Clara Oswin Oswald," he started, smiling as he stroked her hand tenderly. "An enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a skirt that's just a little bit too tight."

He began to remember all the times he'd had with her. All the beautiful moments. Akhaten. Caliburn House. Yorkshire.

And most recently, Hedgewick's World of Wonders. He'd said something there that he'd been wanting to come to terms with for some time.

Something he wanted to amend.

"As if you aren't pretty. As if you aren't the prettiest thing in all the galaxies I've visited in my entire life. And your nose is fine, by the way. It's small, but its cute."

He cupped his mouth with his hand as the emotion overwhelmed him.

"I'm not really getting to the point here, Am I?" he laughed sadly. "I'm not good with this. With endings."

There was a small pressure on his hand that caused the Doctor to pause.

"Your brain's experiencing one last surge of neural activity," the Doctor remarked, unsurprised. "Your mind is the most open now that it will ever be. So I guess now's the best time to say it."

He took a deep breath. "Confess it, really. I've wanted to for so long. So, here goes: I think I'm starting to fall in love with you."

The pressure increased, and the first tears began to leak from the Doctor's eyes.

"So... So don't do this to me, Clara," he whispered, voice cracking up. "Don't leave my life empty again. I'm... I'm nothing without you!"

The unfairness of the situation - the pure cruelty of the universe forcing him to watch for the second time the funeral of Clara Oswald - was what made him remember.

"No," he said, calm all of a sudden, and determined. "No. I won't let you die again, Clara. What's the point in me living hundreds of lives if I can't spend any of them with you?"

He had made the decision. He would never turn back now.

He was raising his palms, concentrating the power of the children of Gallifrey through his fingertips.

Then he cupped Clara's beautiful face in his hands, the soft yellow light beginning to flow from the ends of his fingers. He watched as the pace increased, the light seeping into the folds of Clara's skin.

The whiteness of her face was instantly alleviated, and the colours of life began to return slowly to her cheeks.

Her eyes snapped open.

"Doctor?" she whispered gently as her eyes adjusted to his figure looming over her. "What are you doing?"

The Doctor began to laugh unstoppably. There was no force in the universe that could topple the joy and the relief he was feeling now. It was like a supernova was exploding in his soul.

He looked upon his companion and smiled lovingly. "Something the Time Lords really wouldn't approve of," he spoke softly, his voice indicating that he didn't care whatsoever anyway.

"Submitting."

Then he stooped down and pressed his lips gently against hers, letting loose with the full extent of his regenerative energy, letting it flow through his mouth, and into hers, and from there throughout her whole body.

As her strength returned to her, Clara began to kiss the Doctor back, her lips moving with his in a consistent rhythm. She reached up and placed her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her.

And so they stayed like that - finally expressing exactly how they felt with no emotional barriers in place - whilst all-the-while the yellow explosion of regenerative energy swirled around them, lighting up the entire street.

All Clara knew amongst all of the colours, sparks and fireworks that clouded her vision was that in all of her life, she had never felt so utterly, incomprehensibly ALIVE.

(-TFOTS-)

Sadly, as is often the way with karma, the revival of Clara was to mean nothing if the entire city was destroyed in a cataclysmic explosion.

The joy and relief experienced by the Doctor across the city were perfectly contrasting to the fear and pressure placed upon Byron Carver as he held onto the jumper cable with all his concentration.

"One careless movement is all it takes, Detective!" Vastra had informed him. She seemed to trust Byron with the job, however.

Now he just hoped that trust wasn't misplaced.

Strax was inside the machine's structure now, with only his short and stumpy legs hanging out.

He seemed to be the expert at rewiring. Odd, seeing as he was a butler.

But then again: after everything Byron had seen tonight, he was going to have to redefine the word 'odd'.

A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. It irritated Byron, but he couldn't wipe it off because any movement from his hands would almost certainly be lethal.

He'd made enough mistakes today.

"Almost there..." came Strax's muffled voice from inside the metal exoskeleton.

Then - *Click!*

"There's the first one!" Strax cried triumphantly, as his efforts caused the first of three bulbs on the readouts to turn from an alarming red to a dulcet green.

"Good work, Strax!" Vastra assured her potato-headed butler. "You're doing great!"

"Naturally," was the smug reply.

Byron strained his head to look at his watch. He immediately wished he hadn't done so, because what he read didn't exactly ease his nerves.

It had exemplified them, actually.

But he didn't want to say anything that might put anyone off. They were all doing their individual roles beautifully. Like a real working unit.

Jenny on the gauges. Vastra on her strange device.

All of them masterminds in their own fields.

Even IF Byron was simply holding a cable.

There was another *click* and the second light turned green.

"There's two! I should be a mathematician, all this counting I'm doing!" Strax yelled cheerfully, basking in his glories.

"Keep it up!" Vastra cried.

There was acid bubbling in Byron's stomach when he realised that they only had thirty seconds left.

It was going to be close.

There was no doubt about that.

Twenty seconds.

Byron felt like this just couldn't be the end. No, it couldn't be. He had amends to make. He had a son to care for, and a loving spirit to carry onwards.

No. It wouldn't end like this. Byron truly believed that.

And when there's nothing left to believe in, believe in hope.

Ten seconds.

Still holding the cable with intense concentration, Byron let his eyelids close. He took a deep breath, and pictured Arianna's beautiful eyes.

Whatever happenned now, he was at peace.

Five.

"So close!"

Four.

"Just one more push!"

Three.

Arianna's eyes. Oh god, how wonderfully green they were.

Two.

Vastra threw Jenny a look which the maid acknowledged and returned. The final confirmation. 'I love you.'

One.

*Click*

Zero.

Byron eased one eye open. Judging from the familiarly grimy sewer surroundings he was met with, he came to the accute assumption that he was not flying about in millions of pieces.

The other eye opened. Then he smiled. And then he just laughed. Heartily. Like he never knew he could. For the first time in a very long time, he felt like he was worth something. That he'd really accomplished something.

Jenny ran into Vastra's arms, squealing from the relief and the joy that comes about from simply knowing that you are alive.

"We did it, ma'am! We really did it!"

Vastra chuckled and held her lover tightly. "We sure did."

Still in her tight embrace, Vastra shot a wink at the Detective.

Strax popped his head out, which was now soot-black, giving him the uncanny appearance of a chimneysweep boy.

"You puny organics were never in any danger. I knew exactly what I was doing."

"We never doubted it for a second, Strax," Vastra replied.

The Silurian Detective unwound from her maid's arms and took a last look at the machine (now completely dead) that had caused all of the stress and worry.

"It's over Detective," Vastra affirmed, smiling at Byron, who smiled back. "The Black Chariot will never strike again."

And DID Byron know it. The feeling of accomplishing something you would never imagine possible was flowing from his fingers all the way down to his toes.

Because it WAS over. The Case was finally closed.

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**NEXT CHAPTER: WHAT'S BEHIND DOOR NUMBER ELEVEN? (Going to focus on a much-discussed topic of interest here. If you don't know about Room 11, I suggest you watch The God Complex- Season Six, Episode 11.)**

**Well, I'm sorry about that. As I was writing this depressing chapter I realised the extent of my masochism in writing it. Whilst this story is definitely not rainbows and happy unicorns, I hope that this chapter hasn't put any of you off. I PROMISE I won't write anything this depressing again...**

**Well maybe...**

**If by some strange occurrences you actually enjoyed this chapter, please leave me a review. Feedback is the best food for my efforts. And I mean come on! 10'000 words here! I only finished this one on Wednesday!**

**Thanks for listening to my rambles, and I'll see you all next Saturday!**

**ASouffleToServeTwo**


	13. What's Behind Door Number Eleven?

Sleep came quickly that night, and was both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing because the Doctor was one tired Time Lord. To say that his day in 1894 was eventful was completely missing the point. There was a lot to think about. To worry about.

And a curse because the resting Clara Oswald looked far too fragile for the Doctor to feel comfortable leaving his post at her bedside. She was snoozing peacefully - the Doctor couldn't blame her. Her body was still undergoing a cycle of reparation. She needed all the rest she could get.

Comfortable in the knowledge that London had not been atomized by a Palisade Energy explosion, the Doctor had brought Clara down into the inner sanctums of the TARDIS to a section he rarely used: The hospital.

He wasn't a Doctor of medicine after all.

He had reluctantly allowed Strax to examine Clara, then prescribe her a shot of Adrenaline for her well-being. Strax was a nurse, and a trusted ally. But still: Sontarans can easily get out of hand when wielding sharpened medical equipment.

Jenny had left a box of Yorkshire Fudge Tots on Clara's bedside table.

Vastra -being less clued on human culture - had left behind a peculiar turquoise potted plant. The Doctor recognised it as being a Sporaphyll, a specialized Silurian crop supposed by Herbalists to emanate luck and good will. A kind gesture by the Silurian; yet the Doctor suspected a simple bunch of roses would have sufficed just as well.

The Doctor had much admiration for the reformed Silurian trooper. Yet he found himself irritated when she proceeded to press him about the decisions he had made in order to save Clara.

"You do know that you don't get those regenerations back, right?" she had asked, being uncharacteristically patronising in her choice of words.

"I couldn't let her die, Vastra. I thought you understood."

"Believe me Doctor; I do," the Silurian had sighed. "That's what worries me."

Then she had taken her respectful leave, giving the Time Lord the time he desired to care for his bed-stricken companion.

But as he watched over her, adrift in her dreams (his own Sleeping Beauty), he had found his own eyelids starting to droop from the fatigues of the day.

Minutes passed by like hours, so in the end it was without much defiance the Doctor eventually found himself succumbing to the blackness of his own mind.

And it comes as no exaggeration to state that if the nightmares of human beings are terrifying, then the nightmares of Time Lord's are an entirely more foreboding affair altogether.

(-TFOTS-)

He could see it now - right in front of him, like it always was.

Room Eleven.

The most foreboding wooden door the Doctor had seen in all his incarnations. By all appearances, it looked like any other door. Carved from fine oak, with a golden brass handle. The numbers '11' engraved on the top, like a declaration.

It shouldn't fill him with dread in every dream he saw it in. It was just a door, right? But of course it wasn't the door itself that scared him. Oh no. It was what the door represented. What lay behind it.

Everyone has that room. The place where we keep all of our demons locked up tightly, for if they should escape, they would destroy us. Our greatest fears. Our darkest memories from the blackest of our days. The things we try and forget, but yet will never forget us.

The Doctor had seen this metaphorical concept become a solid reality when he and the Ponds had stumbled across the Minotaur's Keep. He had seen how fear could quite literally consume a person's soul whole.

Everyone has a room. And in that terrible place, it didn't matter if you never sought it out.

Because you don't find the room.

The room finds you.

Room Eleven. The Doctor couldn't resist seeing what the Minotaur believed he was afraid of. He had flung open that oak door with anticipation, pulling back the layers of his own soul in the process.

And he'd seen them again. His fears; the darkest corners of his mind returned to haunt him once again. And he'd remembered why he'd tried so hard to forget it.

"Who else?," he had said softly as he took a long look at the very face of fear itself. Then he had seen enough to remember why he had kept the door to his room closed for all these years.

Panicking as his psyche unravelled in terrifying physical form, he had tried to close the door. Successfully, sure.

But now the door had been opened, it could never be closed. Because he remembered.

Since that day, the dreams of the Doctor had been plagued by it. That accursed door, and its infinitely more terrifying contents.

He was looking at it now. Just that door, in the white veil of emptiness that was his dreamscape. The only object in sight.

He tried to think of something else. Clara. He tried picturing her long, brown hair and that laugh of hers that lit up an entire room.

But to no avail. Just the door. Sitting there, tauntingly. As if it was begging: 'Open me. Open me, Doctor.'

And he wanted nothing less to ignore the voices. But before he could even react he felt his hand on the knob, and the door swung open.

The second it did, the darkness swept in, as if a great floodgate had burst and now the tide was engulfing everything it had once protected.

The memories hit the Doctor like bullets, sinking deep into his subconscious, dragging out with them the long-buried fears, regrets and tortures that accompanied them.

Room Eleven was open. And the Doctor saw straight through into it.

"Please. No," the Doctor whimpered gently. To try and plead with the forces of his own mind.

But it was too late. The memory was once again playing out in front of his eyes.

And he was powerless to resist. The Time Lord - a prisoner to his past. The irony was not lost.

So he could do nothing.

Nothing, but watch.

(:-TFOTS-:)

(Hall of the Ancients, The Sixteenth Province, Gallifrey)

The Hall of the Ancients. The prized crown in the jewel that is the magnificent city of the Sixteenth Province. A place that represents every second of history all at once. The fine stone floors that bear the carvings of inspirational artists of a bygone era. The huge arched windows, polished to glimmering perfection, that let the beautiful orange rays of sunlight illuminate the Hall like piercings of a spear.

This very hall had been used to conduct countless ceremonies and traditions. Some believe that the great Omega himself was its architect and creator. The magnificence of its structure reflect this distinct possibility. Huge stone pillars pave the path down a gold, silk walkway that leads to the ceremonial altar.

When the Hall is not in use, it is not hard to see why the people of the Province speak so fondly of it. It is a place of majesty. A celebration of Gallifrey's advancement from the Dark Ages that came before into the prosperous golden light that they now inhabited.

Only when it is not in use, did such admiration exist. Only then. Because the Hall is not only place of wonder and increment, but a centre for justice.

Many have been sentenced to the harshest of punishments in this intimidating court that assembled there weekly. Those who take Gallifrey's splendour for granted. Those who forsake their noble duties.

And those who break their promises.

Those were the people that disgusted Rassilon the most of all. Defilers of the sacred testaments that bound the way of life together. These people deserved nothing less than death.

And one such man sat before him today. A natural scientist, sent to observe a certain galaxy in a primitive and obsolete sector of space. To record data for a research project. Inevitably, he had become too enthusiastic, and thus ended up in the high court of the Time Lords.

Rassilon took a brief glance around him to see that his associates were ready, then he brought his gavel down hard on its wooden plinth to signal the beginning of the session.

He cleared his throat, and began to read from the papers assembled on his desk.

"Tarrius, you have been brought here before the high courts of Gallifrey, sentenced with the treasonable offence of interference in the life cycle of a level two planet. How do you plead?"

The accused man squirmed under the intense glare of hundreds of judgemental Time Lords, and muttered quietly.

"Speak up!" Rassilon demanded, his commanding voice booming across the expanses of the hall.

"I plead guilty your grace," the man spoke softly, yet loudly enough so he could be heard.

Rassilon sighed and fumbled with his papers. He had been expecting more of a struggle, but this pathetic excuse for a Time Lord had relented with barely a whimper.

"You knew the rules of contact, Tarrius. What persuaded you to break them so carelessly?" Rassilon asked the man, who was stood below him in the docks, like a physical representation of his place in society.

Tarrius looked around him nervously. He felt very outlandish in this room full of Lords in full ceremonial robes. His had been confiscated on his arrest, and now he wore a simple black robe. It marked him as an offender, and isolated him from everyone in his life.

Rolling his eyes in irritation, Rassilon smashed his gavel again. "I asked you a question. Speak!"

The scientist hung his head in shame. "I am sorry, my grace. Spending time with the creatures caused me to unintentionally form bonds with them. They were just so... helpless. I couldn't watch those predators wipe them out. I... beg your forgiveness..."

His pleas did nothing to sway Rassilon's mind. "You owe no apology to me. You should be apologising to yourself. The gift of a Time Lord was yours in return for your loyalty. We must never interfere! We are here to observe, and safeguard the quality of existence. It is not our place to control it!"

Rassilon's voice grew quieter as his strong feeling slowly subsided like the dousing of a fire. "You have taken your name in vain. You have betrayed us, and broken your sacred promise."

The man had defeat in his eyes. He knew his case had been lost from the very start.

"What's going to happen to me?" he asked pathetically.

Rassilon pulled a face and returned his gaze to his paperwork. "That is not my decision. Your crime is psychological. You are diseased of mind. I cannot assess you. But there is one who can."

And with that he hit the gavel once more, and shouted to the two staff-wielding sentinels at the back of the room.

"Summon the Doctor."

The Sentinels nodded and took leave.

Rassilon began to file away the papers. There were bitter tears of sorrow rolling down the accused's face as the reality of his situation hit him like a truck.

"And let this be a lesson!" Rassilon continued, now addressing the full assembly of the Great Hall. "This man's crimes shall never be acceptable in our society. Keep to your promises, or you shall join him in his pitiful fate."

A great silence hung in the air. No'one dared to defy a word from Rassilon's mouth. And it would stay that way. If he had wanted their input, he would have asked for it.

"Court is adjourned!" he announced, breaking the silence as the tense atmosphere that had sewn their mouths shut was relieved. There was much hushed discussion between the seated assembly. Trivial nonsense. It mattered not what they thought.

Except amongst that huge crowd, there sat a young Time Lord. A child, with black hair and an endearing smile that was worn by a face bearing equal charisma.

For all Rassilon knew, this child was just another young initiate. A progeny who would one day commit to the sacred oathes of those before him, and conform to the culture of Gallifrey.

But this was definitely not an ordinary child. Everyone has a destiny, but the path that this young Time Lord would pave would have the greatest of impacts for both the future of Gallifrey, and the universe. Even the timeless Time Lords could never foresee such a destiny.

So to him, he was just a child. A child watching and learning the ways of the Province he would one day protect for himself.

But this child wasn't a prime example of a scholar. Because he was far too inquisitive. He didn't understand, where there was very little to understand.

He had thoughts that he wanted to voice, so he decided to tug on the robed sleeve of the woman sitting next to him. His mother, who turned to look at her child.

"Mother," the child began. "What did this man do?"

The woman sighed. She didn't seem to know; or, at least, she didn't want to acknowledge something she clearly didn't believe in.

Eventually she reached over and placed a gentle arm around her child. "Nothing, my son. He has done nothing."

The child pulled a puzzled face and continued to interrogate his mother. "Then why is he in trouble?"

"Because Rassilon doesn't know what he's talking about. He's wrong. We are not simply spectres, we are a part of the universe, and so we should be able to join it whensoever we please."

Her voice was kept to a whisper to avoid her traitorous tongue being overheard. Yet, she spoke so confidently and strongly that it was clear that her belief was solid.

She leant her head in close to her son, who relaxed in her embrace. "You shouldn't tell your father about this though," she continued. There was clear worry in her voice, as if she knew she'd gone too far and now it might cost her.

"Let's keep this as our little secret, yes?" she said softly, smiling. "Can we do that? Have a little secret? You and me?"

Her son turned his head to her and nodded energetically, grinning all-the-while.

The woman smiled lovingly at her son. "Good. I trust you to keep it."

The boy nodded again, somewhat uncertain of the reason for her asking. But he was very affectionate towards his mother, and decided to follow her wishes.

Then the mumbles of the courtroom stopped abruptly as the huge doors of the hall were swung open forcefully. The two sentinels returned, accompanied by a man wearing expensive silk robes. The high quality of his robe's material were indicative of his high status.

As the silenced audience watched, the newcomer strode purposefully towards the centre of the room. He came and stood next to the accused man, whose tears were now dried up, replaced in his eyes by a look of pure terror.

The man was middle-aged, but already he had a grizzly grey beard that hung around his lips and chin like an anchor. He wore a rounded, tall hat covered in shiny jewels. It was clear to everyone in the room the importance of the man stood before them. His authority emanated from him like a bad smell.

As the man took his place, he looked up at Rassilon with a look of unusual confidence at the chief Time Lord.

At last he spoke, in a voice that resonated both intelligence and pride simultaneously. It was not a particularly endearing voice.

"You wished to see me, Rassilon?"

"Indeed I did, Doctor. This man has developed a disease of the mind. He has become enamoured with low-intelligence lifeforms. Dealing with his type - I hear - is your speciality."

The man identified as 'Doctor' nodded slowly as he took in the information. He raised a hand to scratch at his beard.

"It would be my pleasure, Rassilon. Such defilers of Gallifrey's purity should be dealt with without mercy."

He looked to Tarrius, who was quivering with fear. His eyes reflected those of an animal headed to slaughter. The man showed no empathy with him. Rather the opposite, in fact, as the scowl that permeated the man's face as he took in the appearance of Tarrius was akin to the expression of someone looking with disgust upon the muck on their shoe.

"I trust you can take care of this man from here," Rassilon inquired, clearly eager to put the business behind him.

"Yes," the Doctor said bluntly. "I shall do what is required of me."

"Good." Rassilon stood up from his elegant and imposing chair and brought down his hammer for the last time. "Case closed; court is dismissed."

Then the Great Hall was amiss with hurried movement: people trying to leave as fast as they could. Court was never a jubilant affair, but the tidings of this particular case were especially grim.

Turning to the Ceremonial Sentinels that stood guard by the door, the Doctor gave them explicit orders.

"Take him to the Metamorphosis Chamber."

Tarrius looked behind him fearfully as the two sentinels took him by the arms and escorted him out of the room, the Doctor in close pursuit. His thoughts were a flood of paranoid worries and concerns about the aforementioned chamber.

One thing he knew for sure as he was led from the Hall where he had once proudly served, was that his life was about to change.

Forever.

(:-TFOTS:-)

The Sixteenth Province is an esoterically beautiful landscape for the most part. From the golden snow-capped everglades, to the dusty velvet plains that surrounded them, the Province was suspiciously close to the human image of paradise.

But even the lightest places in the universe have a shadow to accompany them.

The Chamber of Metamorphosis was one such place. A construct of dull steel and speckled rock, initial glimpses of the building place it close to a shady back-street business.

So it came as no surprise to Tarrius as he was led towards the unattractive, foreboding structure that he was more than a little concerned about what awaited him inside.

He had heard terrible tales about the punishments to defilers of Time Lord law. That they were fed to the Eye of Harmony to make fuel, or that they were handed to the Daleks for experimentation.

As he was dragged inside the Chamber through a set of unappealing stone doors, he was met by semi-darkness. What he could make out didn't exactly fill him with much relief, but it was the fear of the unknown horrors awaiting in the dark that deepened the terror of his situation.

The sentinels led him through a long, winding corridor that seemed like it would never end. But eventually he was stopped, and forced to sit on a cold, hard chair.

The lights came on. Tarrius could now look about him, and he became aware of his surroundings. A sparse, grey room that bore Gallifreyan markings all over its cracked stone walls.

The Doctor entered the room, and nodded to the sentinels when he saw Tarrius was in place.

"Thank you. You may leave now."

One of the sentinels spoke up, frowning. "Are you sure that's wise? This man is a criminal!"

The Doctor scowled angrily at the sentinel. He had been offering out of concern for the Doctor, but the grumpy old man certainly hadn't seen it that way.

"I am more than capable of handling this puny wretch on my own. Now leave! That's an order!"

The Sentinels nodded respectfully, and marched out of the room like the soldiers they were, closing the door behind them.

"Right," the Doctor spoke roughly. "I should tell you right now: if you try and leave that chair, this will be far more painful than necessary. Do you understand me? Speak!"

Tarrius nodded his head quickly, whilst keeping his eyes trained on the ground. Whatever was about to happen, he didn't want to know about.

The Doctor stood tall against the harsh light of the room. The room had the atmosphere of a torture chamber, and the Doctor certainly wore the emotionless mask of an executioner.

"The markings you see upon these walls are, as I'm sure you are aware, the first written communications of the Time Lords. Omega himself wrote some of these. These are the valued words of Gallifrey's forefathers."

The Doctor wore a face that reflected his disgust at Tarrius' defilement as he spoke. There was no attempt to disguise the patriotism in his voice. He clearly felt very strongly about Gallifrey's sacred laws.

"You are here because you have betrayed them all," he continued, spraying venom and animosity from his every syllable. "And I find it fitting that the last thing you should see is the very laws that you defy."

"Please..." Tarrius snivelled quietly. "I didn't want this. I love Gallifrey. I have a family here..."

"So do I," The Doctor snapped, furious at being interrupted. "And it is they who keep me fighting. For Gallifrey's glorious future. For the continued purity and majesty of the Time Lord hierarchy."

Tarrius bit his lip. There was no denying the intense guilt he was feeling while he was sat in this room with the writings of his forefathers all around him. It was like they were all here with them, watching with their judgemental eyes, ridiculing his very existence.

"Your defiance of our laws breaks the promise to your forefathers. The sacred agreement by which you take on their mantle as a Time Lord. The greatest offering you could ever receive."

His words rang true. The day of Tarrius' initiation was the greatest of his life. The feeling of being a part of something greater; there was simply nothing that came close to it.

"So it's very simple, actually," The Doctor continued, pacing up and down to keep his building anger under control. "If you take the name of the Time Lords in vain, then you don't get to be one. Anymore."

As if in direct response to his words, clamps came from around the arms of Tarrius' chair and bound his hands in place. He tried to struggle, but the metal bonds were far too strong.

"What are you doing?" Tarrius exclaimed, panic surging in his voice. He had not been expecting this. And that made it all the more terrifying.

"We call this the Metamorphis Chamber for a reason, you know," The Doctor smiled. "It was designed by Omega, whose almighty foresight long ago revealed the possibility of betrayal amongst our ranks. Metamorphosis: to change from one thing to another."

As he continued to lecture, a third clamp tightened around Tarrius' head, completely immobilising the Time Lord in his chair, which had become his prison in a matter of mere minutes.

"The same technology found in our TARDISes. A chameleon arch."

Realisation of the terrible events about to occur was quickly replaced by mortal dread as the numerous events of Tarrius' life flashed before his eyes.

He had heard of the Chameleon Arch.

But it was just a legend. A myth spread like a contagion to keep the workforces in line. It couldn't actually exist.

Could it?

But he had mentioned Omega. One of the first Time Lords, and a figure hailed as the greatest engineer and architect who had ever lived. It was treason of the highest order to insult him in any way.

Then there was a creak of metal and Tarrius could only watch in terror as Omega's fearful device was lowered in front of his face, where it then clamped down on the skin of his face.

The pain was unbearable as several sharp needles fused the mechanical mask to the folds of his skin.

It was dark all around him. Tarrius was now sure he had had his last glimpse of Gallifrey.

He couldn't even hear the Doctor any more. He was alone inside his own personal iron maiden, isolated from the living world by several inches of cold steel.

Now he had only his thoughts, and the pain that was scalding his flesh.

But that pain was nothing compared with that which followed after a few seconds. Like a fire igniting in his cells. The sensation of being torn in half millions of times consecutively.

The sensation of every strain of DNA in his body being rewritten.

If this was to be his death, Tarrius would have wanted to go out without noise, in quiet acceptance, and at peace.

But it was not to be. Because dear god; did he scream.

(-:TFOTS:-)

(A few hours later)

"Theta, come on! Don't be a Davros! It's not that deep!"

The child who was assigned to this unfortunate nickname was looking very pale now. He took one look at the gulley's steep drop and backed up a few steps.

"I can't! Don't make me do it!" he cried to his friend, who was waiting for him on the other side of the drop, arms folded in annoyance.

"If you don't do it, then I'll tell everyone at the academy about what a wuss you were. Then they'll all laugh at you!"

Theta sighed. His respect for his friend ran deep, but he was asking way too much of him this time.

"More than usual?" Theta asked uncertainly.

"You won't be able to show your face anywhere ever again!" his friend cried. "Come on Theta! I'm trying to help you out here! Do it, and I'll make sure that the guys respect you properly."

His friend's voice was like a klaxon, giving him orders. As much as Theta liked his friend (or at least, used to before he had become like this), he had to admit he greatly resented his attempts to control him. He was like that to everyone, trying to dance them around like his puppets.

Theta took a small step forward, then retracted it as he knocked a loose stone away from the cliff's edge, where it plummeted endlessly down into the dark, disappearing.

"Look, I'm not doing it, okay!" he shouted. "I'm going home."

He turned his back on his friend, the gulley and all the prestige it could get for him. Then he began to walk away, his mind firm on the choice he had made.

"Whatever!" his friend called after him. "You're nothing like your father you know. He probably despises you!"

Theta swallowed heavily as the final insults jabbed into him like a shard of glass. Bringing up his father was his friend's way of trying to intimidate him.

And it was definitely working. His father was a very scary individual, after all. That was clear to everyone who had seen him in court earlier that very day.

Not to mention the disconcerting rumours surrounding his business in the Chambers.

He couldn't see how or why his mother ever married his father. Anyone could tell they had very different values about Gallifrey's laws and customs.

His father was a deeply patriotic individual, dedicated to the preservation of the Time Lord's glory and purity. An extremist. Arguably a warped and twisted figure to say the least.

He struck fear into Theta simply when he entered the room. Not to mention the lectures that he so often gave, not relenting to any sort of compassion at any stage in case he should lose his title.

But Theta's mother was a kind and empathic person. A lowly weaver, but yet in so many ways a richer and more conscientious person than any of Rassilon's regal court. She believed in equality between Gallifrey and all other civilisations in the galaxy. That Time Lord's did not have the right to herd them like sheep in a flock.

She never spoke publicly about this of course. Only to Theta, whose bond with her was stronger than the gravity of any star in the sky. Her loving methods of raising Theta could be compared with the cold militaristic rule of his father to give a clear indication of which parent Theta favoured.

Him and his mother talked about her beliefs frequently. Theta wanted so hard to hold such values as well. Because he truly did believe in them. But his father's aggressive dictations divided him completely.

Little did he know that soon his relationship with his father would be tested to the very limit.

His initiation was coming up, in the next solar cycle. His appointment into the Time Lord hierarchy would be a crowning day for him. And yet, he felt as though it was only his father's selfish wishes that drove him towards this.

Whatever was to come, there was one thing he was certain of, even with his childlike mentalities: his father was not a man he should cross.

Or on his own head be it.

(:-TFOTS-:)

(The TARDIS, 1894)

The Doctor awoke with a jolt, and his unfolding memories disappeared. Exorcised. Satiated.

For now at least.

He rubbed his eyes to remove traces of sleep, and grimaced at the stiffness of his bottom having been sat on the hard wooden chair for so long.

As his eyes readjusted to their surroundings, he heard a small cough from beside him, and looked over to see Clara's face smiling at him.

"Am I really that boring company?" she asked, giggling as the Doctor straightened himself up and tried to regain lost dignity.

He looked incredibly sheepish, and the slightest bit guilty. He smiled back at his companion who was sat up in her bed, flourishing with life and beauty once again.

"Hello, stranger".

"Hello yourself," Clara replied, grinning all-the-while. "So, how long have I been here? How long have you?"

The Doctor frowned. "Do you remember what happened?"

Clara shook her head slowly, looking like she was deep in thought, which she probably was. It wouldn't be surprising.

"No. Nothing. Oh god, I didn't trip over in my heels did I?"

Laughing, the Doctor reassured her that she had not. "You've been out for a few hours, at least. Recovering from a nasty dose of Palisade energy."

"Sounds pretty nasty," Clara agreed. Then she tilted her head quizzically. "You still haven't answered my second question?"

The Doctor shrugged. "Which one was that?"

Clara pursed her lips in minor annoyance. He was either teasing her, or he hadn't been listening properly. Possibly both.

"I said: how long have you been here? If you're falling asleep on me, then that's far too long."

The Doctor pulled a face. "Too long? How so?"

"You're the _Doctor_!" she cried. "You should be out saving the universe or something. Not playing the concerned boyfriend card!"

An awkwardly long silence followed. The Doctor looked a bit red. He fumbled with his bow tie, then looked Clara straight in the face.

"So... you remember nothing..."

"Nothing after breakfast, no," she confirmed. "Why?"

"Oh. No... it's nothing really. Just stuff."

"Stuff?" Clara asked, amused.

"Stuff," he affirmed. Then he stood up from his chair, and gave an exaggerated yawn, followed by a long stretch to iron out his cramped muscles.

"You're right. I should be going. Saving the universe and all that. You should stay here, and rest."

Clara folded her arms impatiently. "I've slept long enough, Doctor! I want to go have adventures!"

The Doctor shook his head. "No, Clara. Take your time. A little R&R never hurt anyone. Except maybe an Ood."

He turned to leave. "Come join us whenever you feel up to it."

Just as he was about to walk through the doorway, Clara called after him. "You _still_ haven't answered my question!"

He paused, and hovered in the doorway. Then he turned to her and gave her one of his biggest and warmest smiles. The kind of smile that endeared everyone he met to him, despite all of the danger that followed him around every corner.

"Oh, Clara," he said softly. "I _always_ have time for you."

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**NEXT CHAPTER: The Golden Oak (OAP's AND Cybermen. ooooh...)**

**I hope this chapter isn't too bad. I've had a bit of a block all week, and so I apologise if this chapter feels like a bit of a half-effort. Three exams left, so soon I will be able to divert much more time to this story. **

**I tackled a lot of stuff never attempted by the show, so I understand if you aren't comfortable with knowing more about a certain character's backstory. I'll try and keep it basic as it goes. **

**So then: If you liked/disliked this most-likely-controversial outing, then please leave a review. I love reading what you have to say about my writing. I can't judge myself without being harsh... :/**

**Thanks all! I couldn't ask for a better following community!**

**Sayonara.**

**ASouffleToServeTwo**


	14. The Golden Oak

**Attention all readers! If you happen to leave a review for the chapter you are about to embark on, then can you include in it the answer to this question. What two days of the week would you like updates for this story to come on. I want to hear from you, so I can make your reading experience better! Thanks a bunch guys and gals! You're always so supportive in your reviews! I hope I can really deliver for you! Long may it continue...**

What are monsters afraid of?

It's something that isn't considered often by people. Probably because they're monsters. Because they couldn't possibly have a conscience, or a soul with which to feel emotions like the rest of us.

But one monster knew exactly what it was afraid of. And what it dreaded more than anything.

The silence. Not the beings, but the concept. The idea. A world where there is just nothing. Empty like a shell, devoid of the emotions and experiences that make up life.

Life isn't perfect. Of course it isn't. If it was, then there would be nothing worth living for, because it would be complete. Boring.

Life definitely isn't perfect. But a world where the fires of life have gone extinct is by far a worse place. A world empty of laughter, happiness, hope. And love. Even sorrow, which may not be the most commonly enjoyed of emotions, but still makes us whole in a way that couldn't be accomplished any other way.

This is what the monster feared. This is what was to come. He had seen it. The silence, and the infinite dark.

Not even a monster would wish for such a world.

But then, what defines a monster? What we're afraid of, or what we perceive as evil. Opinions will always differ. But what really makes something a monster, is how it is seen. Whether it is hideously deformed. Or ugly. Or of a fierce-some size and build. These are the characteristics of a 'monster'.

But none of these things make a 'monster' a monster. What we see is only half the story. How we think will always be the other half.

Most 'monsters' aren't scary, if you talk to them. Some of them can give you the friendliest conversations you will ever have. But society dictates that we fear them. Because of who they are.

Because of WHAT they are.

Society still has a long way to go. Because there is only one real enemy out there. Only one phobia that has real potential to harm you. The silence of an empty world.

We are no different from the monsters. We share a common goal, and a firm belief. Life is precious. The light will guide us through its many wonders and miracles.

And the dark will shroud it forever.

The dark is coming. The great silence. The end of all things.

In the bowels of a great spaceship, where some of the universes greatest wonders and miracles took place, there sat a monster. A monster of cold steel. A heartless shell of a being. Or, at least, that's how society would see it.

It isn't hard to see why. Some monsters aren't all that they seem. Some are capable of love, and joy, and grief. Just the like the rest of us.

But some aren't.

Real monsters. Monsters so terrible that even other monsters put great distance between them.

That terrible realisation that you can never escape the stereotyping. It is an awful truth. A sensation of being locked in a prison of your own skin.

The monsters that people saw in him were horrific creatures. Merciless, brutal murderers. He had been one of them once. There was little point in denial; it solved nothing.

But he believed that if there was a chance in the big and bountiful universe that redemption could be found, then it was a hope worth clinging to.

Even monsters have their duty. To protect at any cost the life that they have been awarded.

There were real monsters coming, after all. Abominations that whisper in the dark, and lurk in the shadows.

The dark was coming. And there was one particular monster, sat patiently in the labyrinthian depths, intent on stopping it.

We are all monsters in a way. Just think. If society perceives monsters as a product of imperfection, then what does that make society?

We all stand as one. Monsters working as one towards a brighter future.

When the lights go out, we will be ready.

(-:TFOTS:-)

The lights flickered on and the darkened, oil-smelling room was illuminated in golden light. It certainly wasn't the brightest of rooms, but it was acceptable.

The Doctor walked into the center of the room. He was accompanied by Captain Jack, Vastra, Strax and K9. Some of his most trusted companions, each capable of holding their own in combat.

There was no'one in the universe that he'd rather be with. His greatest friends and comrades. He would always keep them close.

The party stood together and stared into the corner of the room, where a solitary blue light flickered softly.

The Doctor coughed into his hand and was about to start speaking when he was cut off by a croaky, metallic voice that seemed to emanate from the corner itself.

"Doctor. Are you here to remove my chains?"

Pulling a face and scratching his chin simultaneously didn't make for the most attractive of faces, but the Doctor managed to pull it off. As usual.

"Well, we're here to settle things one way or the other. I don't feel comfortable having a Dalek in my TARDIS, as you probably know."

He folded his arms to convey his challenging attitude.

"So prove to me that you're not a Dalek."

The blue eye was unblinking. "There is very little oppurtunity whilst I am in chains. 'Actions speak louder than words'. Is that not an acute human mantra, Doctor?"

The Doctor stared the Dalek down. He was certain that he could beat a Dalek in a battle of wits any day of the week.

Not that he'd ever had to before. The only thing Daleks were good at usually is finding new ways to kill.

"Depends on the words you choose," the Doctor replied calmly. "I happen to believe a few words can change the world."

The Dalek took no time in calculating a response.

"Like 'Heil Hitler'? Or 'Fat Man and Little Boy'? Humanity is drenched in its own blood, Doctor. Words are fuel in an endless fire that will eventually consume them all."

The Doctor blinked. He really hadn't been expecting such a struggle. This Dalek was defiant, he'd give it that at least.

"They can change," he declared. "And they will."

Silence.

But it wasn't a question of whether the Dalek had more words for him. It clearly had no further intention to debate. And that was evident in its next words.

"What do you intend me to say? What knowledge will satiate you?"

The Doctor looked round at his companions. Captain Jack gave him a small nod. Vastra repeated the action. Strax beat his chest with his fist. But the Doctor still counted the movement as a similar confirmation.

Confident in his decision, the Doctor took a step closer to the White Dalek.

"Tell me about the cracks."

"Everything I know, you do also," the Dalek retorted. "They are the mystery that has perplexed the universe. Every species on every planet, in every galaxy. The only mystery anyone should concern themselves with at this present moment."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Well... I wouldn't say ONLY mystery."

The Dalek's eye flickered as it processed data at an untraceable speed.

"You refer to the female. Clara Oswald. She is not important in the scheme of things."

At that, the Doctor's brow furrowed in contempt.

"Well, now you've lost a lot of favour with me, Dalek."

The two ancient foes stared each other down, both trying to figure the other out.

"You have an attachment to her."

"What of it."

"I have no quarrel with emotions. The Daleks are wrong to sever them like cancerous tumours. But there are some beings that are beyond such trivia. Beings who are far too important to be conceited in such a way."

The Doctor scowled. "Well, they haven't met me."

He turned on his heels, giving the Dalek his back.

"Jack. Vastra. Strax. K9. We're done here."

K9's nodes whirred and whistled in acknowledgement. "Affirmative."

The Doctor began to stride away from the Dalek, who had decisively fallen silent once more.

Vastra, Strax and K9 began to follow him at a slow pace. Jack, however stayed behind. He had a question of his own for the Dalek. Something that had been throbbing at the back of his mind ever since the Dalek ship.

"The Doctor said that you looked into one of the cracks. Into time itself. What did you see?"

Several seconds passed without a sound.

Then - "Dark."

Somewhat satisfied with the answer, the Captain also took his leave, turning off the dim lights, and bringing the room into an identical state.

(-:TFOTS:-)

(Earth, 2013. Nottinghamshire, England)

"Mr. Mott! Come in! Please; make yourself at home!"

The tall man with greasy black hair smiled sunnily at Wilf, making wild, enthusiastic gestures with his arms.

Wilf nodded gratefully to the man, and accepted his invitation, stepping over the maple doorframe and into the building.

The first thing he noticed was the cold. It was like a tundra in there! Wilf would have put it down to a lack of central heating, but he could clearly see radiators positioned all over the hallway. A LOT of them.

Perhaps too many.

What was he saying? He was probably just getting old. Or older. The radiator population of a building was not indicative of suspicious happenings. He would need much more conclusive evidence.

After all, that was what he was here for. This nasty, soulless place. The Golden Oak. What a horrible name for a retirement home. 'Oak' - as in the trees that lived for hundreds of years. No'one comes to a home to be constantly reminded of their age.

Quibbles about the place name aside, there was much more about the creaky old place that put Wilf at unease. There was a strange ambience all over the place. And a barely audible metallic throbbing sound that could easily be mistaken for a washing machine.

Mistaken was the key word. It definitely was not a washing machine. Only those without sharp wits could make the incorrect assumption. Not a person like Wilf, a man who had been utterly reliant on his senses in the most unforgiving of environments.

He still remembered every detail of the war, try as he might to forget those terrible days. Some memories would simply never fade.

He would trade them for the return of Donna Noble's without a seconds hesitation. He knew exactly what they had meant to her. Travelling with the Doctor, it changed her. For the better.

He had seen that life for himself. A stupid old man, given the keys to time and space. And by god was it amazing. The most fun he'd ever had in his long, long life.

Shooting Daleks with paintball guns.

Conversing with cactus people.

He would never forget any of it. He wished he could say the same for Donna.

The Doctor. That brilliant, brilliant man. He'd taken the radiation dose for Wilf. Saved his worthless life, because he was selfless and held nothing in greater regard.

If he was dead and gone for Wilf's sake, then Wilf owed him to carry on his legacy. To fight for what he fought for.

And so his travels had led him to the Oak. That creepy, yet easily ignored building on the outskirts of Nottinghamshire.

The locals feared it. There was just something really unnerving about the brickwork that looked as old as the earth itself.

Not even to mention the stories. About the insect infestation. The boarded-up basement entrance. That the elders that entered the crooked building never come out again.

The county police had never bothered to investigate. They just didn't care. Didn't take any of it seriously. Probably laughed about it over their cups of tea and stacks of cream digestives.

But Wilf was no officer. He was an OAP, and proud of it. If his fellows were in some sort of peril, then he had a duty to come to their aid.

So here he was.

The greasy-haired man took Wilf's hand in a swift movement. His hand felt disturbingly cold, and his grip was very tight.

He shook Wilf's hand energetically, and with his other arm gently persuaded him to enter his office.

"We can have a lovely little chat in here. I'm very happy to answer any questions you might have. Please, after you."

"Thank you," Wilf said slowly, in shock from the fierce pressure on his hand.

He let himself be led inside the office, but not before he took another quick look behind him. It wasn't what he saw that was unnerving him. It was what he WASNT.

This was a Retirement Home.

Where were all the residents?

There were just empty hallways in every direction, decorated by cobwebbed paintings and ornaments that looked far too old- even for an elderly home.

The man welcomed Wilf into his office, a well-kept if cramped little cupboard-of-a room. Confident that Wilf was now inside and out of the way, he carefully replaced the door.

It swung shut, leaving Wilf alone with the man.

He wasn't at all claustrophobic, but all of a sudden the tightly closed walls felt even closer than before.

It was the sensation of being trapped. And it felt... disconcerting.

The man pointed to a red-cushioned seat with a plastic smile plastered across his features.

Wilf hesitantly sat down in the chair, and as his back made contact with the material of the chair he was presently surprised not to feel the sharp prick of spikes digging into his spine.

It would have been fitting. Because the entire office held the image of a medieval torture chamber. From the stone brickwork to the suit of armour sat on a podium in the corner.

Wilf squinted at the suit. There was... something about it... Something he couldn't put his finger on. He didn't remember much from his school education, but he was sure that no knight's armour had a face quite like this one. Cold and lifeless eye sockets, and strange handlebars spanning the ridge of its head.

The man noticed his looking, and spoke up, making Wilf jump.

"Do you like it? It's a private acquisition. From Wales! A genuine article Welsh Knight's!"

Wilf returned his attention to the man so as not to look suspicious. "Yes, it's quite... elegant, in its way."

The man gave Wilf another forced smile and took a seat opposite him across his desk.

"So then, Mr Mott," he began, flexing his fingers in an unusual manner on the table top. "What would you like to know about the Golden Oak?"

Wilf opened his mouth to speak, but the man cut him off quickly.

"Oh and I'm Mr. Swane! But you can call me Nick!"

Nodding to show his understanding, Wilf took out his notebook and black-ink pen.

He'd told Swane on the phone that he was a journalist with the Chronicle, so he had to keep up appearances.

"Well..." Wilf began. "Could you tell me about the work that you do here?"

Nick stopped his strange finger-flexing and clasped his hands together.

"Certainly," he confirmed. "Here at the Golden Oak we aim to provide a relaxing, stimulating and - most-importantly-of-all - relaxing experience for our elderly residents."

Wilf frowned involuntarily. Had Nick really just said 'Relaxing' twice?

Nick had continued talking, but Wilf barely noticed. He wasn't really making any notes on what he was droning on about.

No, he was waiting for him to slip up.

"... and that's the LAST thing we'd want to do. Respect is what our residents want, and that's what we strive to give them. An enjoyable way to spend their precious final moments. In fact, we never, ever mention death in this house. So that we may preserve the notion of immortality. You could even say that immortality, is what we provide here."

As he had said the final line, Nick appeared to sound slightly dark. But when Wilf looked up from his fake note-making, he was met with the familiar cheesy grin.

"Was that informative enough for you? Because if not I can say plenty more-"

"No, no, no," Wilf interrupted quickly. "That was excellent sir, thank you."

He almost breathed out a sigh of relief. Listening to this guy was like listening to a broken record.

"Please, call me Nick." Again, a ridiculous smile. It was pretty nauseating to be in the man's presence, but Wilf sauntered on like the old soldier he was.

"Okay, Nick. Could you tell me about the activities you offer here?"

Subconsciously, Wilf prayed for no exposition this time.

His prayers were not answered.

"Here at the Golden Oak, the only limit is their imagination! The mind-scape we offer exclusively here..."

Wilf stifled a yawn and fiddled tiredly with his pen. If Nick decided to look at his notes, he would just see a noughts and crosses grid. Wilf was THAT bored.

'Nick' whined ever onward, and the minutes ticked by like hours.

"... into what we hope is a mentally provocative state. Resident awareness is our priority. If they're not engaging, then they're not totally satisfied. And here at the Oak, satisfaction is our gooooooaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllll."

Wilf looked up in alarm, just in time to see Nick's head snap up in a terrifyingly unnatural fashion. His eyes were fixed and still. As Wilf watched, they rolled up into his head, then returned shortly after to coincide with the rest of his movements.

His face broke into a soulless smile. "And here at the Oak, satisfaction is our goal."

Wilf realised his mouth was open and shut it quickly. Nick pulled a face.

"Are you okay, Mr Mott?"

Wilf nodded fiercely until Nick's features straightened once more. He couldn't let anything give him away.

"I'm fine," he assured Nick. "Just having a bit of a senile moment."

He felt like an idiot for saying that. He could barely stomach his own patronising words.

But his answer seemed to satisfy Nick, who was once again smiling like a madman. "Perhaps one day the Oak will be for you too!"

Wilf very much doubted it. He'd rather drink cyanide than stay in a place like this.

"What else would you like to know?" Nick chimed, energetic as ever after his strange moment's passing.

Wilf looked expectantly down at his useless notes. He hadn't expected to get this far in a million years. He was completely out of ideas.

"Uh, well..." he started, uncertain. "What can you tell me about the friendly environment you try and create here?"

Wilf cursed. He should have said ANYTHING else! Now he'd gone and asked for it.

Nick began to rub his left hand furiously with his right, for no apparent reason. Wilf watched him carefully as he fired up for another grandeur speech.

But then he began to cough furiously, and seemingly without control. Cough came after cough, and he raised his hand and let loose inside his palm.

Wilf reached into his pocket. "Would you like a tissue?"

Nick shook his head between ravaging coughs. "I'm... absolutely dandy... thank you..."

Eventually he stopped, out of breath.

"Are you alright?" Wilf asked.

"Top of the world!" Nick cheered. "Just have an awful cold. Blast this freezing winter weather, eh?"

Wilf frowned. "It's summer."

Nick raised both his eyebrows in strange symmetry. Then looked behind him at the automatic calendar on his wall. The month displayed was 'June', and underneath it was a picture of a squirrel wearing shades.

He froze to the spot for a few seconds, then turned around slowly.

"So it is," he said calmly, every syllable stressed in his sentence. Then he smiled again.

Wilf was feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his chair by now. This situation was turning odd, very quickly.

Nick tipped his head forward slightly, returning to his original position.

Like the cogs of a machine, his movements were clockwork. Precise. Like a machine.

Wilf tried hard to concentrate, but even his strong will was slipping now.

Nick leaned across the table. "Now, what was it you wanted to know?"

Wilf was no longer certain himself. He'd made a mistake in coming here. And now he was terrified it would be his last.

He stood up abruptly, knocking his ankle against the chair leg hard, sending jolts of pain through it.

"Whatever's the matter?" Nick asked, face placid with forced concern.

"It's nothing... just... Thank you for your time, but I need to be going. I have to get my hair cut, and there's all the traffic back home. You know how it is! The young these days!"

Nick stood up as well, matching Wilf's height then greatly exceeding it. Like a mountain over a lodge, the sense of intimidation that came from height difference was strong. And there was no longer a smile on his face, but a dark look of morbid curiosity.

Wilf felt very ill by now. Every one of his tired senses was screaming at him to run. If only he could with these old legs.

Nick looked Wilf up, then down, like a nodding Churchill dog. There was something very mechanical about all of his movements, but now he was making no effort to conceal it.

"What gave it away?" he said softly, yet menacingly. "Was it the winter thing?"

Wilf shook his head. "I don't know what you mean. Now I really should be going-"

"No!" Nick shouted loudly, making Wilf jump. "You're not going anywhere, I'm afraid."

There was no point in denial any longer. Wilf was in real danger, and he knew it. He turned quickly to the door, but found it to be locked tightly by a bolt on the other side.

That had not been drawn before.

While he was rattling to no avail against the door, Nick had come out from behind his desk and was standing right behind Wilf, a cold brood fixed on his features.

"Usually no'one will notice," he began. "There's never been so many mistakes before today. I guess I must be getting... OLD."

Wilf turned to face Nick, and clenched his fists.

"You let me out of here now, or I'll pummel you! I may be an old man, but I'm strong as a bull, me!"

Nick just laughed at the ridiculous geezer that stood before him.

"That's why we take them, you know. The old. So little physical strength, and yet, so much knowledge! A limitless archive of war! You all make perfect soldiers for our army."

Wilf backed up a few steps as he spoke, only to feel his back make contact with the wall.

He was determined not to let his fear show.

"We? Who's we?"

Nick smiled and tilted his head to the side quizzically.

"Oh! Haven't I introduced you to my little friends? They're a bit clumsy sometimes, but they get the job done right."

"I sincerely doubt you have any friends outside of your garden gnomes!" Wilf barked.

Nick clapped his hands apprehensively. "Such spirit! Yes, you'll make a fine upgrade specimen! Goodbye, Mr Mott."

Then, to Wilf's horror, he reached his left hand into his own agape mouth, and sent it straight down his throat, without so much as flinching.

Wilf turned and began to hammer on the door again. It proved useless, but there was very little alternative.

When he reluctantly looked over his shoulder, Nick had extracted his arm from his throat, and his sodden fist was clenched around something.

Then, suddenly and without any premonition, he flung the contents of his fist straight into Wilf's horror-stricken face.

And now they were furrowing their way up Wilf's sleeves, their scabbling metallic feet brushing against his skin to create a thoroughly disturbing sensation.

Little robot insects. Cybermites.

The last thing Wilf saw was the toothy grin of the spectacled squirrel on that idiotic wall calendar.

And then there was only black.

(:-TFOTS)

Breakfast in the TARDIS that morning was a much less organised affair than usual. Dirty pots were strewn around everywhere, and there was a smell of charcoal in the air that indicated burnt food.

This was what happened when the Doctor tried to cook.

"Bah!" he thought to himself as he served up a cremated sausage onto each of his patron's plates. "Who needs human cooking? Gallifreyan or nothing!"

He tugged off his apron from his waist, and grinaced as he saw the state of its front. Splattered with egg yolk and ketchup, no less.

Clara would not be pleased at the state of her favourite apron. He didn't want to be anywhere near the vicinity when she saw it, so he folded it up and hid it carefully inside the lower freezer drawer. She probably wouldn't look there.

Satisfied with his espionage, he looked over his dishes. He allowed a brief smile to pass his lips. They didn't look INEDIBLE, at least.

He placed the dishes carefully onto trays, then wobbled slowly through to the dining quarters, the trays balanced precariously on his arms.

He managed to reach the dining table before he tripped on his own shoelace and dropped one of the plates to the floor, spilling its ravaged contents.

"Oops," he murmured feebly, setting the other plates down on the table so as not to repeat the charade.

Strax looked down at the spoiled food on the floor. He wore a face that demonstrated both dismay and confusion simultaneously. It was an odd look, even FOR a Sontaran.

"Sir, you appear to have decimated my rations!"

The Doctor chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Yeah. Sorry."

He looked round to see if the others were happy with his efforts.

It was clear they were not.

Craig was curling his lip in disgust. "Doctor, is this yoghurt on my bacon?"

The Doctor shrugged quickly. "Maybe-"

"And what are these things?" Vastra demanded, picking at a small onion with her fork in disbelief.

"Well..." There were no words that the Doctor could muster to defend himself. He was simply clueless as to what the problem even WAS.

"Oh, and Doctor," Jack piped up with a condescending smile. "Just a little tip for next time: You put the butter on the toast, not the egg."

"Noted, captain."

Craig put his cutlery down firmly, declaring his intolerance to eat the 'food'.

"We NEED Clara back. Like, now!"

The others nodded in agreement. The Doctor sighed.

"Clara is not our slave! She is a fully independent woman, capable of doing as she pleases, whenever she pleases."

Jack laughed. "You've really been babying her these past few days, Doctor."

"I have not!" the Time Lord yelled. "Bringing her the occasional cup of tea and book is not considered by many to be 'babying'."

"If you don't mind my saying, Doctor," Jenny began. "Four cups a day is not considered to be the norm."

The Doctor looked down sheepishly. What they were saying was true, certainly. He had been babying Clara. But how was he to help it? She looked so fragile, tucked up in her covers. Like she needed his protection.

How he could he bring himself to leave her side?

But his friends did have a fair point. A man like him should not be living the still life. Not even for Clara.

There were adventures to be had.

Even more so, because the Paternoster Trio were now a part of that adventure, as was Captain Jack.

Not long after her visit to the hospital room, Vastra had approached the Doctor, having made a firm decision amongst her crew.

"We're coming with you, Doctor."

The Time Lord had thrown her a baffled look. "After all this with Clara?"

Vastra nodded. "ESPECIALLY after Clara. Those 'Silence' have a real bone to pick with you. And if they have a problem with you, then they have a problem with us too! We want to help."

The Doctor smiled warmly at his Silurian accomplice. "Then you're all very welcome. I have special geo-thermally heated accommodations downstairs... Somewhere... I forget exactly..."

Vastra bowed courteously. "I will find them with ease. Thank you, Doctor."

Captain Jack too had taken the time to speak to the Doctor, this time whilst the Time Lord was hard at work in engineering, only his legs sticking out from a cramped air vent.

"Doctor?" he had asked, amused at seeing his friend's flailing legs.

There was a metallic bang. The Doctor had hit his head on the top of the vent in surprise.

There was a short pause. "Yes?" came a muffled, and somewhat pained voice in response.

"I just wanted to tell you. I am coming with you."

"What? But you said-"

"I know," Jack said softly. "But how can I abandon my friend and cater to my own needs whilst his are still great? Until this 'Silence' business is done, I'm staying by your side."

A pause. The Doctor was overwhelmed with emotion for his Time Agent friend.

"Just like old times," he said eventually, and with great compassion.

Jack laughed. "Yeah. Except now you're chin is bigger."

Then he ran away, ever the cheeky clown he always was.

"Have you been talking to Clara? Did SHE put you up to this?" he called after him, noticeably irritated. But he was long gone already.

As he reminisced, the Doctor let the faintest of tears glisten in his eyes.

He wasn't spent yet. His silence was yet to fall. And how could it ever, with laughter and joy replacing it at every turn in his life at the moment?

There was still so much to do! So much to see! So many laughs to share with his close friends.

No. He wasn't done yet. Not even close.

Trenzalore could wait...

Another thousand years!

"Well then," he shouted energetically, shocking everyone at the table. "Who's up for some adventures?"

Unsurprisingly, there were no complaints. Except Strax, still whining over his splattered breakfast.

"What do we want to see, then?"

Craig raised his hand uncertainly, then let it drop again out of indecision.

"Craig?" the Doctor inquired. "Did you have a suggestion?"

Craig looked embarassed. "Well, it's just I've always kind of wanted to see Robin Hood. I like the Russell Crowe film..."

"It's nothing like that," the Doctor assured him. Then he smiled nonetheless. "But Robin Hood it is!"

With that, he ran from the dining room, laughing like the mad man in a box that he was.

He reached the control room, and began pulling on levers and switches with all the uncontrolled enthusiasm of a twelve-year-old.

"Come on then old girl," he called, tenderly stroking his dear time machine. "Let's give them it all!"

And with a rumble and a splutter, the TARDIS acknowledged its intention to do just that.

(:-TFOTS-:)

The thumping. It was all he could hear. The persistent clash of metal on stone tile.

What did it mean? God, the fog was thickening in his head.

It could mean anything. Could it be love? Could it be fear? Could it be hope?

It was unlikely.

It sounded more like a physical presence than any conjuration of metaphors.

Just the same rhythmic thumping; second after second.

And it was getting louder.

He forced his eyelids to open, despite the searing pain caused by doing so. As his heavy eyes prised open, the vision of a cracked stone tile came into view.

Not the prettiest of sights, of course. And yet, there were was a pristine clearness that he had never before seen in what he saw now. Like he was seeing life in HD. The dirty stone tiles were more beautiful now than they ever had any right to be.

What was he seeing? Where was he? How did he end up here?

The density of his head was high, but the pressure was ever so slowly easing off. Now he felt as though he could at least move it.

So he did. Creakily at first, but a confident movement. He readjusted himself with much difficulty, until he could see past the stone tiling.

It was clear now that he was in a room of sorts. There was blurry furniture all around the confined space.

He began to feel his other senses returning to him. His sense of touch was the first. He felt only numbness for a few seconds, then his sluggish hand movements led to him feeling a cold, wooden surface. A desk of some kind, perhaps.

His hearing was not impaired, and as such the clanking that rang deep inside his ears only grew louder as it closed in on him.

He looked round and saw a blurred man standing in the corner of the room, watching with an intense glare.

Turning away from the figure in the corner, he tried to stand up, but found his legs to betray him, collapsing under the strain.

He felt as though he should understand. What the sound was. What this place was.

Who HE was.

But the fog that swept throughout his neural passages prevented any such recollection.

That was, until he saw them. Out of the corner of his eye.

Grey at first sight, but as they neared he realised that they were actually a much more metallic silver shade. They looked somewhat like humans, and yet at the same time as far from a human as anything could possibly get.

It was odd. THEY were odd.

But he knew what they were. Seeing them in all of their prestige made him remember; and not just what they were either.

Now he remembered who he was too.

He rose slowly to his feet, still unconfident in his movements, but getting slightly better with each waking second. Co-ordination was something they really needed to work on.

Now standing up (if with some indignity), he turned to watch as the three silver silhouettes marched right up to where he stood, their great metal boots pounding hard on the concrete.

They stopped just short of him. And so - finally - did the drumming.

They stood rigid, as still as the corpses that they were made of, and of which they had begun to resemble. Awaiting orders. Like soldiers. But that was OK, because that's all they really were: soldiers.

But the very best and most dangerous soldiers imaginable.

One of them placed its bulky metal arm across its silver-plated chest, and began to recite.

"The First Cybermen Legion of the Second Silver Devastation is awaiting your command, controller."

Wilf watched as his comrade Cybermen addressed the blurry man, who was now staring at his soldiers like a dictator, arms at his sides, and hands bunched. Was it appropriate to call him Wilf any more? Probably not. He was advanced far beyond Wilf's mental, physical and emotional capacities. For the most part, he appeared to be a much more superior man than he ever could have been before. Wilf 2.0.

They were inside him now. And he was their puppet. A walking command console. A non-upgraded, yet still undyingly loyal Cyberman.

"Today we rise my brothers," the man spoke loudly and firmly.

Wilf allowed the slightest of smiles to cross his face as he listened to his commander. Not from human emotion. No, he was far beyond that now. Instead, now he channeled a scary and unbreakable confidence. And he was confident in his triumph.

"We are few, but a strong enough force to be reckoned with. Humanity will fall, ready for their ascension into our ranks. And then, we will take the war back to the stars!"

The three Cybermen and Wilf saluted the blurry man, who Wilf could now recall had referred to himself as Nick. Nick nodded slowly in response to his troops, as a confident smirk rose to his lips, and the fate of the human race was sealed...

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**Next Chapter: Ground Zero (Wednesday, 19th June. You heard me! The time of 2x a week updates is upon us! Plus the celebration of my final exam!)**

**So then. Just the one, last exam. By the time I've finished writing my 1 45min History paper, I'll be lucky if I ever use my hand again!**

**Incidentally, I'm curious to know if any of you got the reference in 'Nick Swane'. If you did and can name it, then I'll have a lot of respect for you, and we can definitely be friends :)**

**Good luck to anyone else taking the accursed exams! **

**Live long and prosper, fanfictionites!**

**ASouffleToServeTwo**


	15. Ground Zero

"Nine letters. A substitute for butter used most commonly by the Krytax tribe of Huna-, Hunalal-..."

"Hunalalapagee, mistress Clara."

Clara sighed. "Yeah, that was really easy. Shame on me for not knowing how to pronounce that. Anyways. It's got to be margarine, right? Even aliens like margarine!"

K9's ear nodes revolved enthusiastically as his CPU processed the information. After no more than a second, the robot dog had the answer.

"Girratine, mistress," he chirped in his tiny, robotic voice.

Clara giggled. "You're kidding right?"

K9 appeared somewhat confused. "Negative, mistress Clara. Girratine is the favourite spread of the Krytax tribe of the planet Hunalalapagee in the Quariop sector."

Bursting into fits of laughter, Clara nodded her appreciation of her trivial defeat. She was definitely not a racist, but there was just something about doing an alien crossword and hearing all the mind-boggling answers.

"Okay, you win," Clara accepted as her laughter died down. "Girratine it is."

She began to scribble on her paper as she filled the gaps on her crossword. When she was done she took her head away from the paper to admire her handiwork.

"Not bad, not bad at all," she decided, noticing that all but one row was now filled. Of course, K9 had done most of them, but that didn't stop her feeling a sense of accomplishment.

She'd had very little to do while she'd been confined to her hospital bed for the past few days. The Doctor had insisted that she stay here until she was better. The decision was hers to make, and hers alone. He'd made that very clear.

Then he'd gone and locked the door. Clearly he was really worried after what had happened to her, but it seemed a little extreme, even by the hyperactive standards she'd come to expect from the Doctor. could tell that he cared deeply for her, and the thought of such compassion for her gave her tingles in her stomach.

"Clara, you genius!" she exclaimed, allowing herself to flourish with pride. Then her eyes moved down to the final piece of the crossword.

She was determined to get this one herself. How hard could it be.

"5 words," she read, chewing the tip of her ballpoint pen. "Anatomy. Ooh, I'm quite good at science! Bring it on!"

She traced her index finger along the line. "Fluid common to 95% of living species. Carries oxygen around the body. Hmmm..."

K9 looked like he was about to speak up, so Clara raised her finger to her lips in a movement that she made sure the dog saw.

"No, no. I've got this. Now let me see..."

She thought she knew the answer, but didn't want to get it wrong and look stupid. There were two answers that Clara was struggling with, and she couldn't decide which to say.

It could be water. Clara was sure that she remembered from Biology class that every lifeform needed water for some purpose or another. She just wasn't sure about the oxygen-carrying part.

So, maybe water. That, or-

"Blood."

Clara froze to the spot, rigid as a rock. K9 hadn't said that. That meant...

"Yes, Clara Oswald. Your lord has returned. Just as promised. Been a while."

Clara's heartbeat picked up as the first rush of adrenaline pumped through her veins. She tried to swallow, but her throat was dry as sandpaper. Try as she might to control it, her fear always got the best of her.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" her invisible tormentor cackled. "Give me one of your trademark 'I will stop you through the power of love!' speeches? They do amuse me so."

Clara dropped the crossword on her lap as her hands began to shake involuntarily. She clasped them together in an attempt to regain some control.

Looking around her proved fruitless, for as usual her tormentor was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, poor Clara," the voice continued, it's every word a dagger aimed straight at Clara's confidence. "Looks like I might finally have scared you into disability."

Clara bit her lip. She was trying her best to ignore the voice, but to no avail. Next she tried putting her hands over her ears to block out the sound.

But when it returned it was louder than ever. An awful, booming cacophony of laughter.

"It would appear your silence has fallen, Clara Oswald. Now we can't have that, can we? Not if we want the Doctor to break his. Not if we need you to scream for your precious Doctor to save you!"

Clara twisted her face around in aggravation as the cruel words thundered in her ears. It sounded like their owner was whispering straight into her ear lobe, even though it was nowhere to be seen. She could almost feel the hot breath. In her ears, and on the back of her neck.

"No, that's just me. You should really stop thinking aloud, Clara. Makes it too easy for me to exploit your fears. It's no fun!"

Clara had had enough of listening to this monster. "What the hell are you?" she snarled to the empty air.

By now K9 was looking with concern at his mistress, who was seemingly speaking to thin air, and fighting back tears.

"Clara?" he asked. "Mistress Clara, are you okay?"

But she was beyond hearing him now. Clara Oswald was a prisoner in her own mind, forced to watch and listen as it crashed all around her.

From an outside perspective, she was sat up straight in bed, staring wide-eyed into the distance, mouth agape in horror at whatever she perceived to be seeing.

But through her eyes, Clara was seeing a swarm of shadows swirling by the door to her room. Not exactly a comforting thing to be seeing by any account anyway, but these weren't even simple shadows.

They were wasps. Or at least, hallucination-born wasps, buzzing furiously in a cloud of stingers and yellow/black stripes.

Clara was rooted to the spot with fear, all rational thoughts cloaked. She knew deep down in her thoughts that these black insects couldn't be real. How could they be on the TARDIS? It didn't make any logical sense.

But yet, it did. They were here because they made Clara afraid. They always had. Ever since she was-

"Twelve," the wasps spoke in synchronocity, in the voice of the shadow from which they were made up of. "Silly little Clara Oswald, dared by her classmates to throw a rock at the wasp's nest on her school playing field. Silly little Clara, trying to make new friends. How did that turn out for you, then?"

How did it know all this? It was impossible. She hadn't even told the Doctor about the wasps. Her greatest fear, made solid in this horrific nightmare state. Only two people ever knew about the wasps. Her parents. Ellie, and-

"Dave. The little man who could. Dumb as a brick, wandering in the middle of the road, waiting for a car to put him out of his worthless misery. But then, against all the odds, he was saved by a desperate slut."

Clara's blood boiled in her head. Making fun of her was one thing. But no'one insulted her mother. And lived.

"Why don't you show your real mouth so that I can punch a hole straight through it, you bastard!" she screamed, using words she tried her best to avoid at all costs.

"I'd love to crush you like the bug that you are, Clara Oswald," the wasps hummed in exact symmetry. "But you are too important to the plan. Of course, when it's all over, and the universe is just ashes, you WILL die. And I will make sure that it's by my hand."

Clara grit her teeth and bunched her fists up. She was normally one of the nicest, funniest and calmest people one could ever meet. But her experiences with this monster had cracked her open, exposing a side to her she wished she'd never learned about.

"What plan? Who are you?"

"I have many names amongst your laughable human languages. Did you know that they named fear after me? For as long as this universe has basked in the light that we gave them, I have watched it."

"So what?" Clara cried. "You're from BEFORE the universe?"

"Gold star! Does it hurt when you use your brain? I'll wage that it took some persuasion to get it working after all these years!"

Clara watched as the shadowy wasp swarm grew by every second, pulsing and throbbing like an all-consuming flame.

"Then maybe you should have stayed there!" she shouted, her eyes still firmly planted on her adversary.

K9 was still watching with uncertainty as his mistress fought with her non-existent foe. No amount of clocking could prepare the robot dog for this situation.

"I tire of trying to converse on your plain of consciousness, Clara Oswald. It hurts my intellect to try and make you understand. But it doesn't matter. My work is almost done. The time of the darkness is almost upon us. It has been far too easy to break you. Your mind is mine to explore. So do yourself a favour, and stop thinking about the Doctor so much. It's sickening. It must hurt to have so much unrequited love, doesn't it? Try and let it destroy you now, won't you?"

Clara leapt out of her bed to stand face-to-face with the swarm of wasps. She was feeling far more angry than afraid by now, and just wanted more than anything for the taunts to stop.

"I wouldn't know anything about unrequited love, I'm afraid. And do yourself a favour, and go find some original villain dialogue to use. You're like a broken record."

Silence. Then just guttural laughter, as the wasps dissolved into nothingness, and the binds around Clara's mind disappeared. She could recognise the sensation by now. It meant that the shadow was done with her. For now.

She couldn't deny she was afraid. As the Doctor had once taught her, fear was nothing to be ashamed of. And she clung to that belief, just as she clung to him.

No, she was afraid. But she was also a lot more confident. She knew more now than she did before.

Knowledge is power, and the greatest weapon anyone can have against their enemy.

But that wasn't the real issue. If knowledge was her weapon, then it was particularly worrying that her enemy exists inside her own mind.

She couldn't fight this alone. The Doctor had said he would help her, and she believed in his capabilities like nothing else in her life so far.

Now she was ready to take the fight to the enemy. And for that, she needed all the help she could get.

(:-TFOTS-:)

It was hardwired into pretty much every Cyberman's circuitry. The whooshing sound, like an unearthly aeroplane propeller spinning at full speed.

It was the sound that had signalled their defeat for as long as they had existed. From Mondas, and all across the Silver Devastation.

The Cybermen were almost extinct because of it. They were ghosts of what they had once represented: a fierce-some military force unstoppable by any organic life.

But still, they recognised it in all it's grandiose glory.

Nick Swane looked over to the corner of the empty dining hall where he and his four troops were assembled. A soulless smile graced his lips. He knew what this meant, but he'd pretty much been anticipating it anyway.

Debris and litter was picked up and scattered by the winds as the blue box phased in and out in front of his eyes, getting slowly more solid and detailed with every swoop.

Then the TARDIS was fully materialuzed, and a few seconds were allowed to pass before the arch-enemy of the Cybermen flung open it's doors flamboyantly.

"I give you... Sherwood Forest!" the Doctor cried energetically, arms spread wide.

Then he frowned at his surroundings. A true far cry from what he's been expecting...

A dusty, neglected hall littered with cobwebs and mouse droppings. Whoever owned this place clearly hadn't heard of sanitation.

"Oh," he muttered, not yet even noticing the group of Cybermen in the corner. "Okay, maybe I was a BIT off..."

Craig Owens stepped through the doors after the Doctor, thoroughly expecting to see lush, evergreen forest all around him. As the reality sunk in, Craig's childlike enthusiastic smile vanished into thin air.

"Doctor," he muttered with an impatient sigh. "I said ROBIN hood, not NEIGHBOURhood."

The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver and gave the desolate air a good buzzing from its green tip.

As he did so, Nick Swane watched him with morbid curiosity. 'Studying his enemy' was an appropriate description. The DOCTOR. He was just like Swane's database memories recalled him. Except he had a different face now. He always did. The Cybermen could only do their best to keep up.

Craig was the first to notice the Cybermen in the corner. He was looking about himself in annoyed disbelief that the Doctor had brought him into such a barren wasteland. If he'd wanted to see a dusty old hall, he could have watched Antiques Roadshow on his home television.

His eyes grew wide as they were laid on the silver figures, who were watching him with their cold, empty eye sockets.

"Uh, Doctor!" he began, with his heart in his mouth.

The Doctor stubbed him out. "Not now, Craig. I'm on to something here..."

Craig took a step backwards. "Doctor, I really think you should look!"

The Time Lord was getting flustered at the lack of results from his screwdriver, and barely registered his friend's words.

"What is it?" he muttered to himself. "There's something here. Something trying to hide itself from me. I'm trying to pinpoint it's location."

Craig shook his head furiously. "Yeah, there really is, Doctor. Look behind you!"

But the Doctor wasn't paying attention. He was living in a world of his own, where he was the authority and could do no wrong. He took companions to be in awe of him and the incredible intellect that he owned. He tried his best to give a good show.

His screwdriver began to bleep like a microwave, and he curiously traced it around in a half-circle, following the increasing pitch of the bleeps to their final destination.

"It's saying there's Cyberman technology in here," he declared as he spun round slowly. "It's not your keyring this time, I swear. I had that signature tuned out as a precaution."

Craig was up against the wall by now. The Cybermen were still immobile. It looked as if they were awaiting orders.

"I know, Doctor. For god's sake, look!"

"Just WAIT, will you?" the Doctor exclaimed. "I've almost got it."

Finally, he finished his 180 turn, and came face to face with his silver nemesis'. As he did so, his eyebrows flew up like a migrating bird in surprise.

"Ah," he said softly. "I see the problem now."

Craig placed his palm over his face in genuine disbelief. Then he took it away and went over to the Doctor, who was still standing rigid in shock.

"Doctor, it's the Cybermen!" he cried. "What do we do?"

The Doctor turned his head to Craig as if to say "O rlly?". Ironic, since he hadn't even noticed them for a good two minutes.

"I'm aware of that, Craig," he stated, before returning his gaze to the Cybermen cluster. In particular though, the human who stood at it's head, smiling hollowly and staring with glassy eyes.

"The Doctor!" the man cried, outstretching his arms in a mocking welcome gesture. "The legends always said that you were ignorant. I just HAD to see it for myself!"

The Doctor stared the plump, tall man down. "I'd hate to disappoint," he retorted, his eyes firmly upon his adversary.

Craig looked with uncertainty at the man. "But... he's... human, isn't he?"

"Once, maybe," the Doctor confirmed. "Not any more. He's just their puppet now."

At this sentence, the man appeared to get somewhat enraged. "Puppet? I am the prophet of the Cybermen! I am their savior! I AM the Cybermen!"

The Time Lord smirked. "Bit of a god complex you've got there, haven't you?"

"Nothing less than the real deal," the man replied, smiling with assured confidence.

"What I want to know, Cybermen," the Doctor continued. "Is how you survived. The last time we met, you were on the end of your tether. Defeated by the human race in all their glory! By my lovely companion Clara, nonetheless. How did you escape the explosion of the entire planet?"

The man laughed. It was a horrible sound. His laughter was like a middle-aged clown who'd lost his love for his work.

"A lone Cybermite survived your slaughter, Doctor!" the man declared triumphantly. "Sent adrift in space. It went into dormancy, and hibernated for millions of years. Through countless solar storms and intense temperatures, it endured. As it slept, hundreds of civilisations were born, and thousands more breathed their last. This one, insignificant, tiny Cybermite lived through the cycle of a billion lives. Saw the birth of fire for some, and the fall of darkness for the rest. To the end of the universe itself. This one Cybermite, it saw it all."

The Doctor folded his arms across his chest and looked unpersuaded. "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

Nick laughed. "Oh, but it takes a deity to know a deity doesn't it know? The DOCTOR A man of healing, turned butcher of over a million of our kind. But life endures, don't you see? This sole surviving Cybermite preserved our purity inside its tiny body. Everything the Cybermen ever were, and ever could be. Always ready, for the inevitable day when the stars will be painted silver once more!"

"I can't let that happen," the Doctor assured the man. "The Cybermen have the blood of far too many on their hands. I won't let you escape again."

The man laughed, eerily gleeful for a tool of the emotionless Cybermen. "You haven't heard the best bit yet, Doctor! You can't stop us! Even as we trade boasts on this very spot, there are hundreds of humans being processed below us, ready to join our ranks!"

The Doctor frowned and actually took a gander at his surroundings for the first time. "What is this place? It smells musty in here. Is this a Youth Hostel?"

"Even better!" the man cried. "A retirement home!"

It took a few brief moments for his words to sink in. When they did however, they sank like the Titanic.

"What?" the Doctor spat. "You're using the old now? Have you lost every last shred of honour? Have you really been reduced to this?"

The man pulled a contorted face. "They make prime specimens for upgrading! Their knowledge and experience is unparalleled! Plus, it's pretty hard for them to run away..."

He was laughing cruelly now, amused by the extent of his own evil. The Doctor, on the other hand, was thoroughly disgusted.

And enraged.

"How long has this sick operation been going on?" he asked angrily, balling up his fists.

"One year," the man answered. "To this very day. When silly old Nick Swane decided to investigate the strange, smoking rock that had fallen from the sky into his garden. A man so intolerably curious that it got the better of him in the end. A man of no significance, and yet now he is the father of the new Cyber Empire! Who'd have thought it, huh?"

Craig had been watching the showdown with some interest up until now. There hadn't seemed to be any immediate danger to anyone, but that situation was changing by the second, and he wanted to help in any way he could.

He took a step forward. "Is he still in there somewhere, Doctor?" he inquired, concerned. "Can we help him?"

The Doctor looked grave. He laid a somewhat unenthusiastic arm of support on Craig's shoulder, and smiled sadly.

"I'm sorry," he said, simply. It was the only words that needed to be said. They said thousands more than any overblown epilogue would have done.

Craig still would've preferred a happy answer. People got hurt around the Doctor. It wasn't his fault, of course. But it happened nonetheless, like an aftershock of an earthquake. One of the unintended side effects of saving the universe.

"The only thing we can do for him now is destroy the soulless machinery that's utilising his body. He deserves peace. That at the very least."

Craig nodded glumly.

The former Nick Swane was laughing maniacally again, enjoying what he truly believed was his ultimate victory.

"This decrepit hive of inactivity is our Jerusalem, Doctor! The birthplace of our new era! Ground zero!"

The Doctor returned his gaze to Nick and his Cyberman minions. "Not if I have a thing to say about it."

He reached into one of the seemingly bottomless pockets of his jacket, and began to rummage about like a spring cleaning.

His hand closed around something, and he pulled it out.

It wasn't what he was looking for though: a half-eaten packet of jelly babies.

The Doctor smiled goofily. "I didn't know I still had these around!" He turned to Craig, suddenly forgetful of the dire situation, and grinning like a child in a sweet shop.

Quite literally.

"Would you like one?" he asked.

Craig shook his head slowly. "I've lost my appetite."

The Doctor shrugged, and popped one in his own mouth. Then he returned the bag to his pocket and began his fumbled search again.

Nick Swane was tapping his foot mockingly, and looking at his wristwatch. "Tick tock, Doctor!" he hummed, sinisterly jolly. "Time's running out, Time Lord!"

Scowling, the Doctor threw away the pair of 3D glasses that he'd also produced from the same pocket. "I really need to clean this thing out..." he muttered to himself.

Craig sighed. The Doctor really was the most unorthodox hero he'd ever seen. Normally, that was a part of his appeal. But now... now it was just embarrassing.

Nick appeared to have grown bored of his game, and exhaled deeply. "I think we're done here, Doctor. It's time to rewrite history! To right all of your wrongs, and restore our majesty!"

He signalled to his Cybermen brethren. "Delete him."

The three Cybermen acknowledged the command by placing their arms across their chests like a gun in a sling. Then, they began to advance on the Doctor and Craig, metallic boots stomping and clashing.

"Doctor?" Craig cried. "You're cutting this a little fine, you know that?"

The Doctor put a finger to his lips. "It's in here somewhere! Just... hang on will you!"

Shaking his head, Craig dared to look over his shoulder. He wished he hadn't, the second he did. The Cybermen were almost upon them.

The Doctor continued to rummage in his impossibly deep pockets. He produced -then shortly after tossed away - a small black cube, a partially rotted apple with teeth marks, and a golf ball. He was getting frustrated by now.

As was Craig. "For god's sake, Doctor!" he exclaimed, ever aware of the increasing pitch of clanking Cyberman boots upon wood. "How long can it take to find something in your pocket? Those things aren't that big!"

The Doctor sighed, exasperated. "They're bigger on the inside, alright?"

The Cybermen were but feet away now, but at last, the Doctor had found what he was looking for.

He whipped out a small, rounded metallic sphere. The moment it came into the light, the Cybermen froze to the spot, mere inches away from the Doctor and Craig.

"I thought this would get your circuits in a bunch!" he laughed, satisfied with his last-minute successes. "An Electromagnetic bomb! Thank you Mrs Moore!"

The advancing Cybermen looked unsure of what to do, and glanced at each other uncertainly.

"It's in your hardware, isn't it?" the Doctor taunted. "You remember them, from Cybus Industries. Just another weapon you've learned to fear."

"And you carry one around with you?" Swane queried, knowing he'd hit upon a hard spot. "A man who appals violence. How times have changed, Doctor. You're a shadow of yourself."

The Doctor sighed wearily. "I can't take any chances. I've lost too many."

Nick narrowed his eyes. "But will you do it? Slaughter us, in cold blood?"

"If I have to," the Doctor replied.

"Then we are no different, Doctor."

"Of course we are," the Doctor shouted. "I would never kill innocent people!"

Nick shrugged. "Not directly, perhaps. But your name is soaked in the blood of millions, Doctor. How many more? How many more?"

"Shut up."

"Ohohoh," Nick jeered, as he recalled a certain detail that he could use most advantageously. "What about Miss Clara Oswald?"

The Doctor balled up his fists, one of which still held the EMB. "You leave her out of this! This is between me, and you!"

Nick laughed. "Oh, Doctor. What is it with you and human females? Rose Tyler. Martha Jones. Donna Noble. Amelia Pond. Ruined them in the end though, didn't you?"

"Big mistake," the Doctor said, strangely calm, yet with his anger barely controlled. "Those names keep me fighting, every day of my life. You've just sealed your own fate."

Craig reached out to the Doctor cautiously. "Doctor. Don't. There's always another way!"

"Not this time," the Doctor muttered, as his hand closed tightly around the EMB. "I can't let these guys escape again. I won't. The universe is a thousand times better off with them not in it."

He lifted his hand up into the air so that all of his adversaries could see it. "Blast radius of fifteen metres. Completely harmless to organics." He paused, taking a deep breath which indicated his indecision. "But thoroughly lethal to machines," he concluded, obviously torn by his decision.

Nick looked unfazed by the threat. In fact, he was smiling again, as he always seemed to be.

The guy was like a Cheshire Cat. If at that a sadistic, cruel one. His smile has hollow, and only seemed to bare it to inflict harm upon others.

He seemed eerily confident, and only when he moved aside did the Doctor realise why.

"It's been a nice talk, Doctor," he said sarcastically. "But I have a world to conquer, and you have a heart to break. Or should I say, two..."

The Doctor gasped as he saw what the man had been blocking from his view. It was an elderly man with a wispy white beard, dressed in a smart suit that had -inevitably - been creased somewhat.

He was in a state of unconsciousness, and his open eyelids revealed empty and glassy eyes, clearly not in use.

There were a number of Cybermites crawling over the wrinkled folds of his face, and all up and around his clothes.

It was a sickening sight to see for any human being to be reduced to this.

But this was no ordinary human.

This was Wilfred Mott, the grandfather of Donna Noble, and a dear friend of the Doctor's.

And nor was he a human. At least, he wouldn't be for much longer.

The upgrading process seemed half-complete. It was only a matter of time before he would be lost completely, consumed by his primordial Cyberman instincts, and turned into their husk.

Twenty-five minutes. That was the Doctor's speedy estimate. Twenty-five minutes until Wilf was lost.

Twenty-five minutes to save the day. Twenty-five minutes to stop the Cybermen.

He looked at his watch again, and breathes deeply.

Twenty-four minutes.

Time was running out, much faster than he would have liked. Just as it always did, and just as it always would.

Even for a Time Lord.

**To be Continued...**

**Next Chapter: The Sacrifice**

**It's over. Exams are done and dusted, and ten weeks of summer holiday await. **

**I couldn't have gotten through it without you guys. Your support means so much to me, and I just wanted to take the oppurtunity to thank you. Truly, you guys are awesome :D**

**I'm going to try and update three times a week (2 of this, 1 of Dark Souls), so I hope you'll enjoy that. This part of the story tends to be the least interesting, but I have some cool stuff planned ahead, so please stick with me on that. I never claim my writing to be amazing, but I really think the story is going to improve.**

**Well that was just my final word to the unfavouriting. Those of you who plan to stay for the long run, that's really awesome and thank you!**

**Okay, I'm sure you'll agree i've waffled long enough now (story of my life), so have yourselves a beautiful day and good luck to anyone whose exams might not yet be over :)**

**Toodle pips,**

**ASouffleToServeTwo**


	16. The Sacrifice

Twenty-four minutes.

"Oh Wilf," the Doctor muttered aloud. "What are you doing here?"

Craig frowned. "Wait. You know this guy?"

The Doctor smiled sadly. "Know him? I'm practically related to this man. This brilliant, oh-so-brave man. He was there... when I... When I became eleven-"

He broke off there. Regeneration was still a tough subject for the Doctor. Best left alone, or he might stir up the wrath of old demons.

"What have you done to him Swane?" the Doctor demanded. "Did you lure him here, as a trap for me?"

Nick laughed, arms folded across his chest confidently. "This one? He came to us, looking for answers."

He laughed cruelly again, and poked the immobile Wilf to try and provoke a reaction from the Doctor.

"We sure as hell gave him some," he continued in a soft yet taunting voice. "Silly old man."

"You really shouldn't have said that, Swane!" the Doctor snarled, his fists bunched like a bush of thorny roses.

"Why's that?"

The Doctor lifted the palm of his hand to reveal the EMB. "I still have this, remember?"

Nick shook his head slowly. A taunt.

"We both know that if you use that to take us out, then you take him out too. He's one of us, and he will burn with us."

Cursing, the Doctor succumbed to the truth which he had been in denial of. With the arrival of Wilf into the equation, the scales had been tipped out of his favour.

He no longer held a trump card.

Now, he was just a useless fool. He couldn't save Wilf in any conceivable way. What had he done?

Twenty-three minutes.

"It's stalemate, Doctor," Nick announced, somewhat unnecessarily. "Mutually assured destruction. A shame. He was so young too..."

"Please," the Doctor cried, his eyes glistening with the first hints of frustrated tears. "Stop this. You can stop the process. Please. Anything, anything you want!"

Nick looked condescendingly intrigued, his hand rising to his face in a mocking gesture.

"Anything? Anything at all?"

The Doctor couldn't hesitate, even though every one of his senses told him that he was making a huge mistake.

Wilf's life was at stake here. He had to do whatever he could.

Even becoming a tool for his enemies.

"Yes," the Doctor said quickly. "Anything. Name it."

"Doctor?" called a voice from behind the Time Lord. Craig. He sounded more than a little concerned at the spiralling nature of events.

The Doctor looked around briefly at his travelling companion. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do," he admitted. "I can't lose anyone else. I just... I just can't."

Craig nodded sympathetically. He was a friend of the Doctor, so he understood him completely.

Still, it was disheartening just to be giving up.

"Well then," Nick chimed. "The Doctor. The mighty storm himself. Reduced to this. Funny how things turn out."

He had victory in his grasp, and he knew it. He barely bothered to conceal his cruel, utter delight as he continued to taunt and ridicule his powerless enemy.

"Firstly, I want that horrible little bomb you have there in your hands. Electromagnetic... was it?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No. The bomb stays with me. I can't trust you."

"Oh," Nick sighed. "Okay. It's just... I thought that you wanted Wilfred Mott alive. But that's fine."

"When I'm certain you've carried out your part of the deal, you can have it," the Doctor promised. "I give you my word."

"Doctor, no!" Craig shouted. The Doctor tried to ignore him, even though his defiance was admirable.

And under any other circumstances, exactly what he would have done.

Nick narrowed his eyes, sizing up the Time Lord. Eventually he crossed his arms, perhaps to signify his strong defensive position.

"Fine. If I see your hand go anywhere near the bomb, then I will kill Mott alive. You hear?"

The Doctor nodded gravely. Then, without the will to even meet Nick's eyes, he asked the question we needed the answer to more than any other.

"What do you want?"

Nick laughed, his fingers weaving as if they were in a sword dance.

"Isn't it obvious, Doctor? We want your TARDIS."

The Doctor hung his head. He had no viable alternative. He knew that there had to be a sacrifice if Wilf was to be saved.

But this...

Was he making a mistake? Should he just abandon Wilf, for the greater good?

These nasty thoughts swirled around the Doctor's minds, like a biblical plague. He tried to shake them off, but alas, it was impossible.

After all, no'one can escape themselves. Not even the Doctor.

This was the side of him that killed Solomon the trader, and had tempted him towards killing Kahler Jax. His dark side, that cared for no'one but himself.

The Time Lords would have been pleased that their training had passed on something to him. Selfishness was Time Lord logic.

No.

He wasn't one of them.

Not today.

"Okay," he muttered half-heartedly, accepting his defeat with unrivalled grace. "Just... help him, please."

Nick smiled with all the charm of a cobra, poised to strike at him.

"Emotions have made you weak, Doctor. That is why we are better off without them."

"Shut up," the Doctor retorted angrily. "There is no 'we'. I am not one of you!"

"We shall see, Doctor," Nick chortled. "We.. shall... see..."

And so the bargain was struck.

And all hope was lost.

Or was it? Because in the convoluted, two-faced mindscape of a Time Lord, there was the unmistakable sign of activity.

The pieces of a plan, coming together. Devious strands of information, weaving like a dainty spider's web.

And yet, the Doctor held his rambunctious tongue.

Because for once in his 1000-year lifespan, silence was his ally.

(-)

Clara Oswald stepped out from underneath the shower head, sending cascades of water to the floor as she did so.

Carefully wrapping a towel around herself, she took a comb from the counter beneath the mirror, and proceeded to straighten out her hair.

It had become quite tangled. She blamed the Doctor.

Going on so many adventures left little time for beauty treatments. Much less than Clara would have liked.

She always felt liberated when she was in the shower. Feeling the lukewarm liquid running down her face; the sensation of having all of her stress and worries washed away like a cleansing flood.

She had definitely needed to leave her bed, that was for sure. Being confined to it, like a prison, hadn't helped her feel comfortable in any way, shape or form.

And that was even before the shadow had arrived.

Satisfied with her straightened locks of hair, she set the comb down, and her hand reluctantly went for the hairdryer.

Reluctantly, because every single time she used the damn thing it exploded in her face.

Like there was a ghost in the machine.

Or a jealous TARDIS.

"Good hairdryer," she cooed as she gently edged towards the on-switch. She knew how ridiculous she sounded, but she'd managed to convince herself that it would help if she complimented it.

"It's okay," she continued, her finger on the switch. "You're going to be fine. You're not going to explode, are you? You're a good hairdryer, not like those other ones..."

Silence on the hairdryer's front. Of course.

Clara squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation as she slid the switch into position.

But there was no explosion. Instead, hot air poured from the nozzle, warming Clara's hand and the air around it. Everything was as it should be.

That is, until the air turned bitterly cold, sending shivers all the way down Clara's back.

"Hey!" she squealed, her hand scrabbling for the off-switch.

For just a second after she did so, she could have sworn she heard mechanical laughter echoing from within the inactive dryer.

It wasn't paranoia. Clara was certain that the TARDIS hated her. Or maybe, was jealous of her relationship with the Doctor.

Grumpy old cow.

Leaving the bathroom now that she felt reasonably sanitised, Clara walked down the long hallway to her room, soaking the floor as she did so.

Finding her leaf-engraved door, she pushed it open, and walked inside.

Moving towards her bed, she was suddenly aware of movement out of the corner of her eye.

Shrieking, she gripped her towel tighter around her body. When the bumbling figure came into the light, Clara was more annoyed than frightened.

"Ah, you boy," Strax murmured, holding in his stubby hands a pair of her knickers. "I was wondering if you wanted to get these washed?"

"Do I look like a boy to you?" Clara yelled. "Get out of here, and get your grubby paws off my underwear!"

Strax, in uncharacteristic alarm, dropped his prize and fled, with his tail between his legs.

When the shock had died down in her body, Clara sighed deeply.

Sontarans just didn't understand women.

Or anything at all, really.

Once she was certain that her door was bolted shut, she sat on her bed and began to pull a pair of socks on to her damp feet.

As she did so, there was a loud knock on her door.

In fury, Clara threw a shoe at the door, which collided with the wooden frame and banged loudly.

"Go away Strax, you pervert!" she screamed.

After a moment's pause, there was a hesitant voice from the other side of the door.

"Miss Clara, it's me, Jenny. I apologise if this is a bad time, but... A situation has arisen... In the driveroom."

Clara brushed her hair back behind her ears, and began to pull on a shirt and knickers. "What kind of situation?"

Jenny sounded nervous as she replied. "I think you'd better come and see for yourself, miss. It's rather... self-explanatory."

In a huff, Clara hurriedly put on the rest of her outfit for the day. She was going for a biker chick- look today, complete with black boots, leather jacket and dark tights.

'I look pretty badass,' Clara thought to herself with a smile as she checked herself out in her mirror.

She hoped the Doctor was into bad girls.

When she felt reasonably satisfied with her look, Clara turned and walked slowly towards the door, taking her sweet time.

Clara really didn't like to be rushed when she was getting ready. Whatever was going on at that moment, she was certain of one thing.

It had better be good.

(-)

"The TARDIS," Nick determined with one of his trademark plastic smiles. "The jewel of the known universe, or so some say. I have to say, Doctor, I like the redesign!"

The Doctor stayed silent, choosing to ignore irrelevant conversations with the enemy.

"You sure do travel in style, eh? None of that cramped leather-seat and disorganisation one comes to expect from a time machine!"

"This isn't the DeLorean," the Doctor said impatiently. "Stop ogling my TARDIS, and get on with it."

"I think you mean MY TARDIS, Doctor," Nick retorted smugly. "It is now the property of the Cybermen. All one-million rooms."

"'It', is a she," the Doctor replied bitterly. "And that's two million."

Nick stopped studying the grand interior of the time machine, and spun around to face the Doctor.

"Yes, yes. Emotions again, huh? You will see how they cripple you soon enough. Now, show me how this thing works!"

By now, Jack and Vastra had appeared at the top of one of the upper balconies, and were staring in horror at the unfolding crisis below: three Cybermen, and an inherently crazed madman were standing quite naturally at the helm of the universe's greatest device.

It was definitely going to be a rough day.

"It's not that simple," the Doctor said, trying to signal Jack and Vastra subtly. "You can't just pull switches and expect results. It's a telepathic network. It will detect you, and boot you out. SHE will. She's alive, and she won't let you have her without a fight!"

Nick began to drum his fingers on the console, much to the animosity of the Doctor. "So... How do we do it then?"

"Well..." the Doctor continued, scratching the back of his head. "I have to take you to the central point of the network. There's a particular room in which we must go, in order to calibrate your frequencies, and disarm the Friend/Foe systems."

Nick shrugged his hands. "Which is?"

After swallowing the lump in his throat that had arisen from concern for his wondrous machine, the Doctor answered.

"The heart of the TARDIS."

(-)

There were the sounds of echoing footsteps as the Doctor reluctantly led Nick and his horde through the inner sanctums of his grand time machine.

It still held the Doctor in awe, even now. The sheer size of the place. Supposedly, it went on infinitely, so he would never run out of ways to be enthralled whilst he explored.

This particular hallway was decorated like the interior of a gothic mansion, with waxy candles held in golden plinths lining the velvet-red walls. The odd chandelier hung from points on the ceiling.

It really was quite beautiful, in its way. The Doctor, being quite ancient himself, held an affinity for this antique decor. The rustic feel was that of home. He just couldn't express his wonder enough.

Not that Nick regarded it the same way. His eyes were narrow slits, darting about, looking for a crack, or fault of any kind that he could jeer about.

His Cybermen allies clunked heavily through the passage behind him, their steel boots battering the wooden floor.

As they rounded the next corner after ehat had seemed like miles of walking, the Doctor came face-to-face with two women, and in his carelessness, managed to headbutt the first, sending her crashing back a few steps.

"Ow! Doctor!" Clara scalded, her hand caressing her bruised temple. "Look where you're going once in a while!"

The Doctor shrugged, stubborn. "These are my corridors!"

"And that was my head!" Clara retorted quickly. She appeared to be seething at the Doctor, but after an extended period of intense staring between the two, a smile crept to the Doctor's lips.

Initially, Clara was annoyed by it. But the spell it cast was infectious, and Clara couldn't resist the tug of a similar smile as it arose.

"You're so full of it, Doctor!" she exclaimed jokily.

"How else would I impress you, miss Oswald?" the Doctor replied, a flirtatious tone in his words.

"Gah! I give in!" Clara cried, laughing slightly as she did so. "Doctor, what is going on here? Jenny told me there was a situation?"

Her question answered itself as Nick and his Cyberbuddies came around the corner after the Doctor.

Clara's eyes widened with shock as she recognised the silver glints. "Doctor! Behind you!" she shouted, oblivious that the Time Lord was in fact well aware of the threat.

The Doctor put his hands on Clara's shoulder and tried to pull a reassuring face.

"It's going to be fine, okay? You stay here, where I know that you're safe."

Nick forced a yawn behind him. "Tell your silly girlfriend to move out of the way!"

The Doctor ignored him, despite his primal impulse to spin around and knock him out.

"Doctor?" There was great worry in Clara's deep, hazel eyes as she spoke. "Let me help you."

Shaking his head fiercely, the Doctor moved his hands to Clara's face, cupping it gently.

"No. I won't see you get hurt."

"Doctor-"

"I'll be fine," he said softly with a smile. "You know me."

Clara smiled back, despite herself. She was greatly enjoying his touch. "And that's the problem, isn't it?"

The Doctor laughed, and pressed his lips gently against Clara's forehead. "I'll see you real soon."

With that, Clara and Jenny moved aside, and the Doctor and his Cyber escorts continued onward.

Clara felt torn up as she watched him go.

"I'll hold you to that!" she called after her handsome Time Lord, as he got further and further away from her.

She didn't half worry about him.

(-)

The Doctor stepped down the last flight of stone stairs with pace, his heels clicking on the rock.

Following him, Nick and the trio of Cybermen arrived into the large room and joined him.

'Large' was just a guideline. It was impossible to tell the size of the room, mainly because it was plunged in complete and utter blackness. The only things visible were their faces, illuminated by the dim light from the staircase.

Nick stopped in his tracks as his eyes met the darkness. He looked around for a while, before turning on the Doctor with the fury of a hurricane.

"This is a trick, isn't it?" he cried. "You've led us to a jail cell!"

The Doctor looked solemn. Or at least, he APPEARED solemn. The look on his face could easily have been interpreted as guilt, also.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "But I can't just give my TARDIS to a group of power-hungry psychopaths."

"You fool!" Nick spat. "Then Wilf is as good as dead!"

The Doctor shook his head, with the faintest of victorious smiles on his face. "No. You see, having been a victim of Cybermite invasion myself, it was all to simple to counter-act the process. As we speak, my right-hand man Jack Harkness will be making the finished touches to his gold solution. Wilfred Mott will be fine. It's you who should be concerned."

There was confusion, rage and hatred burning in Nick's eyes all at the same time. Plain to say and see, he wasn't taking defeat well.

"You will never be safe, Doctor. Not while I'm here. Every waking second, I'll be finding a way out. Planning your painful, painful demise!"

"I was worried you'd say that. So that's not what I'm going to do. I truly am sorry that it's come to this."

As he spoke, another source of light had appeared in the corner of the room. A solitary, blue shade. Nick had yet to notice it, with all his attention placed on the Doctor.

"You will regret this, Time Lord!" he shouted. He looked to his cohorts. "Kill him now you fools!"

But the Cybermen were still, like the sets of armour they were. There empty eye sockets just stared.

"Sorry," the Doctor said, without any real intention of being sincere. "I've planned for this occasion. Hostile Aggression Transmogrifier. Or HAT, as I like to call it. The second your Cybermen came into my Time Machine, HAT powered down their weapons. They're just metal now."

Nick's eyes turned very dark. He could see he was losing, and was unwilling to accept it lying down.

"We will endure, Doctor. We always do. The Cyberman Empire will rise again. You can do nary to stop it, for it is inevitable!"

The Doctor took a step towards the exasperated Cyber-leader, true remorse in his face. "Do this man some final decency. Let him go. Let him have peace."

The former Nick Swane looked into the Doctor's face, giving him one last blazing look of pure hatred. Then, without any warning, he bent over and began to cough.

A lot. And with no restraint.

A small silvery insect landed on the stone floor, drenched in posthumous saliva. It began to wriggle, trying to evade it's enemy. But the Doctor wasn't having it, and he scooped the Cybermite up, bringing it close to his face for a better look.

It's puppeteer absent, Nick Swane's body creased, and collapsed lifelessly to the floor. It had, after all, been long out-of-commission.

"So much evil from such a scrawny little bug," the Doctor remarked, watching the scrabbles of the Cybermite's legs as it tried to escape his clutch. Fruitlessly.

"Some god you turned out to be, eh?"

If the Cybermite could have spoken of it's own accord, the Doctor expected it would have been cursing and cussing at him.

"It's not my intention to commit genocide here," he alluded. "If I did, you and I would be no different. But I can't have three dormant Cybermen in the universe. I've made that mistake too many times already."

The blue light in the corner was still watching closely. The Doctor looked over at it, meeting it's gaze.

"Prove to me whose side you're really on here," he said firmly. "It shouldn't be hard, it comes naturally to you. Exterminate."

He could barely believe he had said the word. It was like a betrayal of his identity - everything he ever was.

Silent acknowledgement.

Satisfied in a deeply dark manner, the Doctor turned away from the light and the Cybermen husks, and, struggling Cybermite in tow, he proceeded to ascend the stairs, without so-much-as looking back.

Walking away from his actions. Some things would never change, it seemed.

As he disappeared up the stairs, there was a low, robotic voice. "So be it."

And then, Dalek and Cyberman were once again pitted against each other in conflict. This time though, there was no contest.

Three successive laser beams, each accurately striking the breastplates of the three Cybermen.

And then it was over, as quickly as it had begun.

(-)

When Clara saw her raggedy hero approaching from one of the corridors, she ran straight towards him, surprising him and pulling him into a tight embrace.

"You're okay! Thank god!" she cried, burying her face in his black jacket.

He smiled and stroked the back of her hair as he held her. "Of course I'm okay. I'm the king of okay! At least, on planets with mo royal family..."

They pulled apart, and, just for a moment, kept staring happily at each other, both of them immensely relieved that the other still breathed.

Jack came over slowly, and coughed into his hand to get the Doctor's attention.

Somewhat reluctantly, the Doctor turned his attention from Clara.

"He's going to be fine, Doctor," Jack stated, referring to Wilf.

"Thank you, captain."

Jack smiled broadly. "Hey, it was my pleasure. I'd been wanting to use that alchemy set for some time!"

Then he turned and walked away, pleased with himself and leaving the Doctor and Clara to enjoy their moment alone.

"I'm just glad you're okay," Clara said softly.

"Never mind about me. What about you? Are you okay?"

Clara smiled nonchalantly. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

She was clearly trying to direct attention from herself, but her eyes betrayed her. A beautiful hazel, yes, but full of pain and distress.

"Clara," the Doctor continued, his hands on her shoulders reassuringly. "Did you have the dream again?"

Clara bit her lip, and shook her head. "It's not a dream, Doctor. It can't be. It feels too real."

"What happened?" he asked, his eyes deep with concern for his crestfallen companion.

"It's like... it can read my mind. It knows about everything. My fears, every last one."

She was beginning to sound really scared. It definitely reflected the helplessness she was feeling inside.

"Doctor, please. I just want it gone."

The Doctor, seeing her discomfort, pulled her in close again. "Listen to me, okay?"

She nodded.

"Whatever this is, whatever the cause, we will work it out. Together. I won't let it hurt you. If it lays a finger on you again, it's going to wish it had never been born. Trust me."

Clara looked up at him, her tears dissipating at his comforting words. "Oh, I do. With my life."

"Then you have nothing to be afraid of. You're stronger than this thing. I know that. We're going to beat it."

"Then... What are we going to do now?" Clara sniffled, wiping at her face with her sleeve.

The Doctor beamed at her, admiring the bravery and unbendable will that he had always known she had.

"We're going to **give** this thing something to be afraid of."

To Be Continued...

Next Chapter: Darkness (Cue ominous music)


	17. Darkness

**Chapter Seventeen: Darkness**

_(- The planet Mirdan, the year 5046. 4.53 approx-)_

As the two men walked towards the huge, black mountain, there was no doubt in either of their minds. This was it. The moment they'd been training for.

The Black Tooth. That was what the locals called it. All of them lived in fear of it, their daylight obscured by its imposing shadow.

But everyone knew it wasn't the mountain itself that brought on such fear.

No, it was what lay inside it.

A gigantic labyrinth of ancient stone. That was the description in the mission briefing. Built countless years ago by the Disciples of Light. It's design is admirable, but it's purpose is unknown. It appears to be a city of some kind, that has fallen into decay and broken apart.

At least, that was the theory. That only the passing of time was responsible for the ruin of the stone landscape.

But, judging by their mission briefing, it was not the correct theory.

"Retrieve the artefact," the burlier of the two men said, recounting their mission from the documents he had been entrusted. "Get out alive."

The other man laughs. "No brainer, that one."

"But do you think it's true?" the first man asks, trying not to show his discomfort to his companion. "What they say. About the... monsters?"

"Not afraid, are you?" the other man jests, digging his associate in the ribs, provoking a scowl from him.

"Course not," he assures. But his face declares otherwise. The matter is clearly troubling him. "Just saying is all. Otherwise, why wouldn't anyone else have gone looking for the artefact?"

His companion, clearly a man of inflated ego, begins his attempt at seeming knowledgeable. "It's the geology, isn't it?" he snorts, obviously in no doubt of his genius. "Structure's unstable. People go galavanting in, they're gonna get crushed."

Not convinced by his words, the other man's brow creased, a sign of his deep concern and worry. "Isn't that going to happen to us?"

Laughing, his friend puts a friendly arm on his friends shoulders, which is resisted. "Well, that's the advantage we have. The roof caves, and I'll hold it up. Like Atlas, I am. When I work out, I don't push up, I push the ground down!"

His friend shrugs off the arm, smiling involuntarily at his companions idiocy. "Whatever."

As they walk in the long shadow of the Black Tooth, their boots crunching in the dirt, they notice that some of the locals have come out, and are standing at intervals on the path, watching with beady and suspicious eyes.

One elderly woman in particular seems very interested in them. So much so that she comes out in front of them, in a feeble attempt to block their route.

"Stop, please!" she shouts, supporting her weak frame with a battered old stick pushed deep into the mud. "Demons! There are demons up ahead!"

The first man, who went by the name of Ghak, was surprised that no'one was trying to help this clearly deranged old lady from the road. Being a self-declared samaritan, he took it upon himself to help her out.

He approached her slowly, with what he hoped was a kind smile on his face. As he came closer, he got a good look at what she was wearing. A black, scuffed robe that was lightly dusted by cobwebs. It wasn't a good look. It actually reminded Ghak of the old Earth concept of a 'witch'.

Reaching her, he took out his hand and gently placed it on her arm. "Are you okay?" he asked warmly, smiling.

She didn't reply, and creepily her eyes were not fixed on him any more, but on his friend that stood a good distance away from the strange old lady. Her hair was a tattered white, and hung wildly, as if it had never been combed.

"You!" she cries, her voice wrenched by unexplained fear and distress. "You bare their mark!"

Ghak's friend, a muscled man who was called Siv, looked baffled and mildly amused. He did not share Ghak's enthusiasm for good deeds, and was currently running through all the possible jokes he could make of the situation.

"You mean this?" he asks, rolling down the lime green sleeve of his uniform to reveal the tattoo of a snake.

Ghak frowned at his friend. "Don't encourage her!" he scolds, trying to gently persuade the old lady to walk away.

The woman will not be moved however. She raises her stick, which was made from noticeably gnarled and torn wood. "They have chosen you, my child. They have marked you!"

No longer able to contain his laughter, Siv broke out in a huge grin. "What is this? Prime time television? Come on Ghak, let's go."

Ghak nods at his friend, respectful of his need to get away from the strange situation, yet irritated by his ridiculing.

He lets go of the old lady's arm, and says softly: "I'm sorry about him. We'll be on our way now, don't you worry."

He turns to leave, but she grabs at his arm suddenly, causing him to jump out of his skin.

"Here!" she cries, thrusting a soft, fabric-like object into his hands. "Take it!"

Ghak smiles, and tries to return it. "Oh, no I couldn't possibly-"

But the old woman is firm, and only now with his face right up close to hers, can he see the intensity in her eyes and facial expression.

"This will keep you safe. It will ward away the demons. You must protect him, child of Sagittarius. He is marked, and they will not stop pursuing him!"

Ghak's blood ran cold as ice. He was a Sagittarius, but how could this woman possibly know that? This complete stranger?

But, out of politeness more than anything else, he accepted the odd item with a forced smile, and quickly turned to walk away.

As he did, the old woman hobbled away slowly, her dusty white hair blowing in the wind. He shuddered as the wind blew a cold spell all the way down his back.

If he didn't know better, he would have said that she struck him as an omem of some kind. Her entire appearance was ethereal. To say that the encounter had left him unsettled was an understatement.

Siv came up behind him, startling him away from his glance at the old lady. He is sniggering.

Ghak stares daggers at him. "Was that necessary?" he asks, with the slightest hint of anger bleeding into his tone.

Siv just clasps his shoulders and laughs louder. "What the hell was that about?" he asks, wrongly assuming that Ghak would know any better than he.

But Ghak isn't really listening to him. Instead, his focus was now on the palm of his hand, where he was holding the item which the old lady had entrusted him with.

Siv stopped laughing and peered curiously at the item in Ghak's hand. "Is that-?" he deduced, uncertain and wanting his friend's confirmation.

"Yes, I think so," Ghak muttered softly, his mind elsewhere as it considered the possible implications of what he'd gotten himself into.

He wasn't a skeptic, he'd just never thought he'd find himself really believing. There was a difference between being rational, and being ignorant.

And Ghak was neither.

He put it back into his pocket, unable to muster the courage to continue looking at it. Mostly out for fear that he may abandon himself and the mission, and flee back the way he came. The object emitted a very dark and dispelling aura at it's very touch.

And he could still feel it. Impossibly, through all his intensive layers of clothing. Like it was taunting him.

"Aah, just forget it!" Siv cries, trying to shatter the solemn mood that had descended over the two of them. "She was just some crazy old bat! Every planet has one, and Mirdan is no exception!"

Ghak nodded, trying and detract attention from himself, but his face was a giveaway that he was still deeply bothered.

In a way, Siv couldn't blame him. The old woman had been pretty creepy. But they were soldiers! Used to worse than this!

And so, strange meeting behind them, on they trekked. Past the locals and their watchful gazes. Over the black, barren hills. And ever onward, towards the great black mountain.

And all the while, the bloodied rabbit's foot bounced around, concealed inside the fabric of Ghak's pocket.

_(-The TARDIS, Time Unknown-)_

It was true what they say. Some humans really do look cute when they're asleep.

Clara Oswald was no exception. The Doctor had come in to talk to her some fifteen minutes ago, and found her snoring in her bed.

He'd had half the mind to wake her, but in the end he'd just pulled the blankets over her, and taken a seat in the chair next to her bed.

She looked so at-peace, and the Doctor didn't want to disturb her. He also couldn't help but sit in awe of her beauty. From the angle he was sitting at, she looked like nothing less than the image of an angel, where the light caught her figure at intervals.

He had gently brushed her hair away from her face, and his touch had brought an unconscious smile to her lips.

Although the Doctor felt he was abandoning the concept of personal space, and should probably move away, he couldn't bring himself to.

She just looked so vulnerable. How could he leave her?

He was her protector. A silent sentinel. He'd never truly understood the extent of compassion and adoration that had led Rory Williams to guard his wife for thousands of years. He'd thought it touching, of course, but had never experienced such feeling for himself so was unable to relate.

That is, until he met Clara Oswald.

As far as the Doctor was concerned, she was the universe's gift to him. The universe itself. A perfect companion, with all the attributes he so admired. Intellect; Bravery; Humour, and beauty. By the Eye of Harmony, was she beautiful.

Clara was everything to him. He just hadn't known it until he'd almost lost her.

What he'd done to save her would have disgusted the Time Lord purists. Rassilon, Omega. Even his father. But he'd turned his back on all of them a long, long time ago.

He didn't care what they thought. They were wrong about love. It isn't a force that can be controlled or manipulated.

Love is natural.

Love is cruel.

But you can't choose it. It just happens. And it should be celebrated simply because it's there.

Race and species and gender and age. None of it matters. Not in the slightest.

And the Doctor loved Clara Oswald.

He was still sitting in that same chair, a good two hours later, when he felt a rush of hot breath on his hand and the muffled sounds of post-sleep moans.

Clara rolled over, and her deep, brown eyes snapped open. They seemed cloudy at first, but then the fog cleared and they focussed on the Time Lord-shaped figure that stood before them.

"Doctor?" she yawned, trying to sit up. "What is it? What's wrong?"

The Doctor seemed confused. "Wrong? Nothing. I hope."

Clara sat up on her elbows, brushing the sleep from her eyes. "Then what are you doing here?"

This caught the Doctor out. He seemed lost for words, and a little embarrassed.

"Oh. Um. I was testing this chair. Searching it for... ants."

A raised eyebrow from Clara. "Ants?"

"Big ones," the Doctor reaffirmed, nodding fiercely. "With teeth," he described, putting his hands against his mouth to mime the insect's fangs.

Clara laughed, a rosy sound that soothed the Doctor's ears and warmed him from his head, to the tip of his toes.

"But really," the Doctor continued, smiling kindly at his sleepy companion. "I wanted to talk you through what I've found. I was doing some research in the TARDIS archives, and I found this article that says that some human women experience hallucinations, and great pain as they grow older. Once a month! Your problem might not be as uncommon as you think!"

"Doctor," Clara sighed. "I'm pretty sure that's not it."

His face fell. "Oh. Okay. I just thought I might have been able to help you. I WANT to help you, Clara. But I'm just so thick. Too old for my own good. I forget things."

Clara smiled at her preposterous man, and placed a consoling hand on his arm. "No, no! Thank you for trying, Doctor. It means a lot to me."

And it did. The idea that he'd put real time into helping her at no advantage to himself was indescribable.

She felt ever-the-more strongly for him by the second.

"I have some other leads," the Doctor persisted. "You wouldn't by any chance have an irrational fear of woodlice, would you?"

Clara shook her head and smiled in disbelief. "What is it with you and insects?"

Shrugging, the Doctor began to stare at his shoes to hide his sheepish expression. "They can be quite scary. Spiders especially. Hate spiders. Especially those from Metebelis 3."

He had been talking mainly to himself near the end of his sentence, so his reference made no sense to Clara.

She was, in fact, too tired to indulge in any more wishful thinking anyway. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the Doctor's efforts, because she definitely did.

Her issue was more that science and statistics were a cold and sterile solution to her problem. All she really wanted was comfort right now. Facts just couldn't compare with the simple pleasure of a hug.

"Doctor," Clara interrupted, before the Time Lord could launch into another train of thought. "Don't worry about it now." She yawned, and lay back on her bed again, to stare dreamily and whimsically at the headboard."Just... sit with me," she said softly, her eyes already beginning to droop again.

There was a short interval where there was no sounds to be heard but the gentle humming of the TARDIS framework, and then Clara felt the shockwaves as the Doctor crashed into the bed beside her.

The Time Lord felt a bit stiff as he tried to get comfortable on the bed. He didn't feel consciously tired at first, for he barely ever did.

But then, as he let his torso sink lower into the soft folds of the bed, he felt the fatigue of the past few days wash away like seaweed on a beach. Just standing still for a moment allowed the plug to be pulled in his brain, and many pointless and overdrawn thoughts were flooded away, leaving his mind a serene and peaceful empty.

The two of them just lay there for a bit without a care in the world. There was no passing of time to be conscious of.

And as he did, with plenty of time to think as he did, the Doctor came to the subconscious conclusion that he actually really liked the sensation of lying next to Clara Oswald. He hadn't expected to, as the physicality of relationships was something that didn't come naturally to him at all. But it just FELT natural. It felt right. He was only just about resisting the temptation to put his arms around her, for fear that he might creep her out.

Clara wouldn't have minded that at all. In fact, she would have loved it, unbeknownst to the Doctor. She was greatly enjoying the time she was spending in such close proximity to him, and selfishly wished it never had to end.

A good three minutes had passed before Clara stirred slightly, and her head moved partially to the left to look at the Doctor.

"Doctor?" she asked in a whisper, wondering if the Time Lord had fallen asleep.

Then she heard a low-pitched "mmm" escape from his lips, and even though his eyes were closed, she could now tell he was awake and listening.

"Do you dream?"

The Doctor opened one eye, and surveyed his companion. "Yes. Don't we all?"

Clara shrugged her shoulders sleepily. "So what do Time Lords dream about then?"

"All sorts of things. The brightest of stars. The shiniest of comets. The greenest of forests. We live to see what we dream, Clara. When you have a TARDIS, nothing is beyond your reach. Not even your dreams."

Clara turned her body the full 90 degrees to face the Doctor, now listening intently with interest to what he had to say.

"So, I could really go to a city made only from liquorice all-sorts?"

The Doctor chuckled, and rolled his body over to face Clara. The pair's faces were so close, their noses almost touched and they could feel the heat from each other's breath.

"The planet Bassett. A terrible marketing campaign it was, too. Waste of terraforming equipment. Still a nice day trip. Maybe I'll take you there."

"Sounds good to me," Clara whispered, her smile reflected in the the black of the Doctor's eyes of which she was staring at so intently.

"What about the King for a Day dream?" the Doctor whispered, his excitement infectious and reminiscent of a child. "Everyone has that dream."

"Can't say I've ever cared much for power," Clara replied, snuggling into her covers. "Although I wouldn't mind giving the order for Simon Cowell's execution."

The Doctor laughed. He had no clue who Simon Cowell was, but his enjoyment came not from the understanding of the joke but his time spent together with it's teller.

"But have you had nightmares too, Doctor?" Clara suddenly asked, dousing the conversation in a darker and less fantastical light.

The Doctor's smile vanished, and immediately Clara wished she'd never asked. Clearly, it was a rough spot for the him, and not a topic for discussion amongst friends.

If it had been anyone else, the Doctor would've lied and protected his bravado. But it was Clara Oswald, and no matter how hard the Doctor tried, he just couldn't keep anything from her. Besides, he trusted her.

"All the time," he said, sounding strangely remorseful. "Have you ever tried so hard to impress someone, only to fall short of their expectations every single time?"

Clara nodded. "My dad," she elaborated.

The Doctor was moderately shocked, but he couldn't say he was that surprised. The universe had tied him and Clara together by similarities and common beliefs enough times by now.

Should he really have expected anything different?

"Yeah," he muttered, a sour taste in his mouth from seemingly nowhere. "Same here."

Clara put edged herself closer to the Doctor, closing their distance to a meagre few inches. "It doesn't always matter if you don't grow up the way they want. My dad wanted me to be a politician. A strong, independent no-nonsense woman. Like my mum. See how that turned out."

Smiling kindly, the Doctor finally put his arms around Clara, pulling her into his embrace. "You would've made your old mum proud, Clara. You're all of those things and more."

"What about you?" Clara asked, succumbing to the Doctor's touch and thus losing all sense of her own.

"Well," the Doctor began, sounding reluctant almost as if the ghost of his dad was in the very room with him. "It was the same, really. He wanted an heir, someone who could carry the baton of our family name onwards into new glories. Suffice to say, I'm not heir material. I ran away, and I've never stopped since."

By now, Clara was used to the vague language the Doctor adopted whenever he spoke of his past. There were demons in there that were best laid undisturbed. Clara knew, and respected this.

"Guess then that we're two of a kind, eh?" she said, the volume of her voice disappearing as she vanished into the Doctor's arms.

The Doctor held onto her as tight as he dared, for fear of overdoing it. He wasn't going to let anything hurt his Clara. Never. Ever. Again.

"I guess so, Clara Oswald," he said, holding the back of her long, chestnut hair in his hands. His inactivity had led to his fatigue overpowering him, and now he was mere seconds away from falling into a deep sleep.

He pulled the covers over himself, and settled in, still holding Clara as gently as he could. Her breath was receding on his palm, and he could thus tell that her time was nearing too.

Satisfied and more comfortable than he could ever put into words, the Doctor lay his head back, and allowed his eyes to shut.

As the light faded in his pupils, the Doctor leaned in close to Clara's ear, and whispered quietly one last time.

"And I wouldn't want it any other way."

* * *

_(-Mirdan-)_

"The city of the Ancients," Ghak said, somewhat in awe of the impressive architecture that lay before him.

"I know," Siv said softly, before breaking out in a huge, goofy grin. "Piece of shit, isn't it?"

Ghak throws him a look of disparity. "Seriously? Can't you appreciate culture at all?"

Siv shrugs. "Of course I can. I just choose **not to."**

Ghak rolls his eyes and dismisses his friend with a wave of his hand. "No, but really. It's fascinating. The design is so intricate, the way the pillars face outwards. Don't you see? It's a sundial! The pillars are aligned perfectly so as to capture the rays of the three suns up above! It's magnificent!"

"If you say so," Siv sighed, knocking up a pebble with his boot and watching with strange satisfaction as it flew through the air and collided with a rock a few metres ahead. "I'm just here to get paid alright? I don't much care about what it is I'm doing."

Ghak really despaired of him sometimes. To think that he was a holy man. Or at least, a member of the Church. One of their elite soldiers. It was like the man had ridden a train all the way through his life and had never gotten off at any of the stops to appreciate anything.

Up ahead of them was the hollowed entrance to the Black Tooth. The only conceivable way of getting inside the huge mountain, and it wasn't exactly the most inviting piece of architecture. The aforementioned pillars were very pretty, but were crumbling and coated with a layer of spongy, green moss.

"The final destination," Siv muttered to himself. If he was trying to add a sense of magnitude and grandeur to the proceedings, he was failing miserably.

The other three were already there, waiting for them.

Firstly, there was the old monk, Jeremiah, who wore the laughably silly bright yellow robes and hat. If Ghak had to make a guess about his age, he would have said ninety. The guy had wrinkles **on his wrinkles.** Ghak didn't exactly love the idea of an elderly man such as Jeremiah accompanying them on the mission, but he was a high-ranking and well-respected cleric in the church, and was essentially their chief-in-command, despite being so ditzy he wasn't really of any use whatsoever.

Secondly was the Paladin, Arkenstor. Their boss for when Jeremiah didn't feel like talking sense. He was pretty much universally hated amongst his ranks for his oppressive attitude and disregard for the safety of anyone but himself and Jeremiah. His moustache seemed to curl whenever he saw Ghak and Siv, for they were surely his least favourite troops.

And then, there was the woman.

Now, Ghak was no sexist. Not by any means. But he was at some doubt as to whether this kind of work was really appropriate for a woman such as herself.

You know, the pretty and young variety.

But he wasn't going to judge her. Not until he actually met her. This was their first time face-to-face, as her acquisition for the mission had been conducted behind the scenes and on the hyperphone. From what he'd heard of her, she was much sought-after for dangerous missions, and had noteworthy experience in a great many fields of science.

"There you are," shouted Arkenstor, stunning the pair out of their thoughts. "Fifteen minutes late. You'd better be prepared to answer for this!"

After standing to attention and giving the Paladin a reluctant salute, Siv tried to explain himself.

"It's the traffic, you know. Lot of people wanting to visit the McDonalds museum on the dark side of the planet, sir!"

Ghak stifled a laugh. Both he and Siv despised the Paladin, but he'd never had the guts to ridicule him in front of his face. For that reason, he admired Siv for his foolish bravery.

Arkenstor brought his ugly mug straight up close to ours. "This is no ordinary mission. You are in the presence of the Monk. So you'd better hold your tongues, and do your job."

Oh yes. The job. It was simple enough, so Ghak couldn't really complain. He and Siv were to accompany the Monk and his most trusted Paladin through the labyrinth of the Disciples in search of an artefact lost long ago by the church, that the Monk had had visions about whilst he was in deep meditation in isolation.

So, yeah. Not your standard military job.

Yet, there were still possible dangers lurking inside the old ruins. So he had to carry a weapon at all times, and be prepared to lay down his life saving the Monk and the Paladin if the need arise.

He didn't need the money as such. But the alternative was being stuck back at base making coffees. No 'one else had wanted this job. There was immeasurable superstition about the ruins; people saying that there were soul-devouring monsters living inside, waiting to prey on the weak of hearted, and strong of faith.

Well, that may be true or not. Certainly the creepy townsfolk had brought on some paranoia about the mission. But he and Siv were tough nuts to crack. They'd signed on a while back, then got rip-roaringly drunk that same night and forgotten all about it. When the call came earlier this week, Ghak had been alarmed to find that he remembered nothing of it. But he'd soon gotten into the swing of things. Nothing the mission portfolio couldn't solve.

Arkenstor was bug-eyed and staring with intent across their faces. Looking for any signs that these men were not up to the job; the first indication of a will being cracked.

But they held the Paladin's gaze, and eventually, he dropped it and turned away from them.

The woman, whoever she was, had taken to tapping away on a communicator on her wrist. Ghak supposed she was writing a diary entry, even though they hadn't done a thing yet.

The Paladin noticed her too and coughed into his hand.

"Professor?" he asked, putting a decent effort into politeness. "I'm sure that you can make these recordings at a later date. We are kind of in a rush here."

The woman flashed a cheeky smile that showed off her gleaming white teeth. "Oh don't mind me... I'm just sending a text!"

A few raised eyebrows amongst Ghak, Siv and the Paladin.

"To whom, exactly?" the Paladin queried. "Might I remind you that this mission is top-secret! Black ops; on a need-to-know basis. Even the planet's officials don't know we're here."

"The husband," the professor affirmed with an enthusiastic grin. "He's always late; and yet, he always gets here in the end."

The Paladin frowned. "Didn't he get the memo?"

The woman shrugged. "Don't ask me! I forwarded it, but he'll usually just direct messages from me straight to the junk mail. I have to be more direct than that."

After exchanging a glare with the setting sun, the Paladin looked back to the professor, impatience gleaming in his aged features.

"We must go on without him. If we do not reach the artefact by sundown, then the catacombs will be too cold and we will almost certainly die from hypothermia."

The professor sighed and let her arm fall to her side. "He'll be here all right. You can always count on him."

The Paladin unsheathed his torch mounted gun from his ammunition sleeve on his back, and flicked on the powerful light. 25000GW; all the power to burn the sun. But we're going to need it in the catacombs, where daylight has never once bothered the eternal darkness, and every step could lead to pitfall, and inevitably, death.

"Light's on, helmets on," Arkenstor instructed, and Ghak and Siv began to fiddle with their equipment. The professor took out a smallish pistol-like weapon from her purse, and snapped one of the torches onto its side.

As she did so, she noticed Ghak looking somewhat amusedly at her pistol, and sent a smile in his direction. "It's bigger on the inside, my dear."

He nodded, trying to find the meaning of her riddle-some words.

Jeremiah the monk was looking into the sun, and barely noticed when the Paladin strapped a torch to his head, as delicately as he could.

Arkenstor reached for his communicator and began to record the first mission log. "This is Paladin Arkenstor Mathrells from the Eleventh Temple Fleet. Log #1, mission Alpha-6-Strawberry. We have reached the labyrinth's mouth; preparing to enter."

Ghak checked his gun's ammunition, and once he was satisfied the barrel was fully-loaded, he let it hang level at his chest.

Siv ran his hands over the length of his massive machine gun. It wasn't exactly standard gear for casual marines of the Church, and it was potentially dangerous should it cause a collapse inside the catacombs. But he loved that thing, and had been practically everywhere into the galaxy with it. He'd even treated himself to a few mods, including one that made the sound of the bullets ricocheting from the barrel into that of smashing beer bottles. I doubted anyone could have taken him from it if they'd tried; like two conjoined twins, he never went without.

Final preparations complete, the party moved off in the direction of the catacombs. The ground was dusty, but by now the rocks were thinning out. There were no trees or shrubs anywhere in sight. Every step seemed to be harder now that they had to carry their guns in their hands, but Ghak and Siv had been trained for much worse, and they soon found themselves straight in front of the entrance tunnel.

"The heart of darkness," Siv whispered. "The eye of the storm. The opening... of the va-"

"Enough poetry!" Arkenstor shouted. "I don't want to hear your whining. It might set off a rockslide when we're inside! Plus, I don't want to hear it anyways, so silence Private!"

The mission briefs hadn't been kidding. The place looked dark as... dark as... well, something dark. Visibility ended with the tunnel walls, but when Arkenstor guided his torch into the darkness, he scattered it and illuminated a small stone path running some distance down into the depths.

"Move out gentleman!" he cried. "Oh, and you professor!"

The professor laughed. "Oh, I'm right behind you!"

And so, the party moved inside, and instantly the whole atmosphere changed. Whilst the locals had set an unnerving feeling in Ghak's stomach, the huge heights that he could barely make out made him feel physically ill, and he'd never had any trouble with vertigo before. There was an old musty feel to the interior. Like it was ancient.

And... it is ancient. So that made sense.

Soon they were all-but-inside, the light of the cave entrance long behind them, and onwards they travelled; into the spirals of darkness, the graveyards of the ancients.

And right into their lair.

* * *

_(TARDIS-)_

Clara Oswald awoke to the crisp smell of butter melting on burnt bread. It wafted up her nostrils, and brought her out of a troubled night's sleep with her mouth watering and her stomach grumbling.

Her sleepy eyes found the plate balanced on the countertop next to her bed. Two slices of toast and marmalade were waiting, along with a cup of tea and an array of fancy and delicious chocolate biscuits.

Her bones aching from the effort, Clara slowly sat up in bed and made a move for the plate. Only when she neared it did she notice the little paper sign that had been left upright and facing her so that she would read it.

_I've got a surprise for you! Enjoy your breakfast, and then come down to the control room. Love, the Doctor._

Clara felt the corners of her mouth curl into a smile at the attention to detail and care that had been made in the preparation of the breakfast. The Doctor had alphabetized the biscuits, from Bourbon to Custard Cream and on to Digestive. Etc. He'd also spread the marmalade so that it was arranged in the shape of a smiling face.

Clara took a look at the clock on her bedroom wall. It read 8.54.

He must have gotten up a lot earlier to get Clara her breakfast in bed. He really did care about her. A lot more than perhaps she ever realised.

Despite the simplicity of the kindness compared with other and more important acts, Clara felt overwhelmed with emotion that she couldn't described if she wanted to. It warmed her from her head to the tips of her toes.

**He really cared about her.**

She finished her breakfast as quickly as she could, uncaring about the possibility of indigestion, and retreated to her wardrobe to throw on random clothes in her blurred rush.

Then she left her room with a big grin on her face, and made her way towards the control room.

As she walked through the TARDIS corridors, she nearly bumped into Strax, who was occupied with a hoover and was cleaning the corridor.

Clearly no 'one had told him about the TARDIS' automated up-keeping system.

The potato-headed alien looked up and sneered as she passed. He looked pretty menacing actually, but Clara could tell from prior experience that he was trying his best to be friendly, and his sneer was actually the basis of a forced smile.

"Morning, Miss," he said, in as friendly a voice as he could muster.

"Morning yourself, Strax!" Clara replied cheerfully.

The Sontaran shrugged, as if he had no idea what came next in the conversation. Rather than looking stupid, he decided to get back to his work with the hoover.

Clara felt inclined to say something, but she also wondered if it would be cruel to rob the Sontaran of his hobby. After all, no 'one had asked him to clean; he'd just decided that it was his legacy from Paternoster house to do the cleaning jobs. He probably didn't have anything else to do but sit, stroking his huge ammunitions closet, so Clara let her him get on in peace.

At long last, the familiar surroundings of the control room appeared before her.

"Morning, Clara!" she heard an energetic voice cry. "Did you sleep well?"

Clara looked up at the Doctor, who was leaning over the railings and beaming at her.

"Honestly, Doctor," she began faintly. "I didn't. But thank you for asking."

The Doctor frowned. "Oh. Well, that's unfortunate. But I have something for you."

"A present? Doctor, you shouldn't have!"

He smiled. "A present? Well, yes, sort of. It's a present if you like..."

"Are you always this mysterious?" Clara asked, then immediately realised she knew the answer, and had always known, ever since she had met him all those months ago in London.

He spread his arms wide. "Come on up!"

Clara practically skipped the whole way up the stairs to meet him, before pushing herself into his arms.

The Doctor had definitely not been expecting the embrace, but it was far from unwelcome or unwanted. Clara's energy was beneficial to everyone she met. It was just one of her great qualities as a person. She could light up a whole room, and she often did. He had been in a good mood ever since he had woken up next to her that morning, but her enthusiasm for the unknown (a preferred companion quality) had made him equally excited.

She was just a **wonderful** person to be around. He was helplessly attracted to her cheerful magnetism, and her unequalled beauty. The Doctor wasn't really a poetic man, but he could definitely find the right words for the right occasion. Shakespeare himself had noted as much. So when he said that he was like a moon, trapped in orbit of her warming and beautiful sun, it was a compliment that Clara would not take lightly.

Eventually, Clara pulled away from him, and whispered softly, as if she wanted no 'one but him to hear.

"Thanks for the breakfast. The biscuits were a nice touch."

He laughed. "You're always welcome. Sorry about the Jammy Dodgers though."

She raised her eyebrows. "Wait? What Jammy Dodgers?2

"Moving on!" he declared quickly, before he was pressed to confess his unusual obsession with the sugary biscuits. "I have a special gift lined up for you today, Clara Oswald! A trip of a lifetime."

Clara sometimes forgot that they were travelling companions, and not simply a married couple living in the TARDIS. So, she still had all of her enthusiasm for seeing the universe, even after many trips.

"Where are we going?" she asked, smiling.

Simpering, the Doctor clarified. "Anywhere. Absolutely anywhere you want to go! No TARDIS tricks this time, I promise. Anywhen. Anywhy. Anywhat."

"Those words aren't in the dictionary, Doctor" Clara said, giggling.

"Well, why don't we go put them in there then!" he cried. He too was wrapped up in the excitement. It truly was infectious. "Whatever you want to do, Clara Oswald. I promised you I would show you the universe, and it's time we got back to that."

Clara was wide-eyed, with hundreds and thousands of possibilities dangling in front of them. "I don't know Doctor! I can't just decide on the spot!"

"Good thing you don't have to then," he said, before lifting a very familiar copy of a book before her eyes.

"101 Places to See!" he enthused, his face a rainbow of positive emotion. "Your choice, Clara."

He passed the book to her waiting hands, and she gripped it fondly. Her and this book went way back, and because it belonged to her mother, she had a special affection for it that no outsider to her life could ever understand.

Flipping through the pages, Clara turned upon the Seventh Wonder of the Modern World, the great stone ruins of Machu Picchu. The view looked gorgeous, and Clara saw many possibilities for photo opportunities that she would never forget. So, she made her decision.

"Let's go here!" she exclaimed, showing the Doctor the page she had opened the book at.

He nodded, but seemed a little bit disappointed. "Machu Picchu, it is!"

Clara frowned. "Something wrong with my choice?"

"No!" he affirmed quickly. "It's just... that's on Earth, and we've been to Earth so often these past few trips. Plus, that Zygon Imperial Generator might still be buried somewhere down there."

"Zygon what-"

"Doesn't matter," he interrupted. "It's absolutely your choice. You do what you want to. If you want Machu Picchu, then so do I."

Clara smiled, and put a gentle hand on his arm. "You're right though, Doctor. Going back to Earth again does sound kind of boring. So why don't we... space it up a bit?"

A huge grin grew on the Doctor's face. "Now you're talking!" he yelled. "Space Machu Picchu! SPACE MACHU PICCHU!"

He looked back at his smiling companion, and as his eyes graced her, he knew that he could never bare to let that kind of enthusiasm down.

**He was _definitely_ in love with her. **

**There was no doubt in his mind.**

Craig and Jack had walked into the room, in some kind of heated discussion about Poker, and had paused, entranced by the Doctor's energetic yelling.

Craig pulled a face. "Space Machu Picchu?"

"Space Machu Picchu!" the Doctor confirmed.

Shrugging, Craig nodded to give his consent to the idea. "Bout' time we got out of this place."

Jack grinned at him, and the Doctor. "OVERtime!"

Pulling back on one of the many levers that were fixed to the TARDIS control panel, the Doctor felt a surge of satisfaction as his beloved ship began to rumble and groan and shake - just like old times.

_That feeling of not knowing what lies ahead._ That was the feeling of being a traveller in the TARDIS, and right at the moment, not a single person wasn't feeling it.

* * *

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**NEXT CHAPTER: The Rabbit Hole (At the latest, next Friday)**

**Sorry this is super-late everyone. I know I promised two updates a week, but that just isn't going to happen. After reading back over some of the earlier and more popular chapters, I came to the realisation that I was doing something wrong lately, and the epiphany that I have had has shown me that keeping to a deadline makes it a chore and a bore to write. Coming back over different periods of time allows me to refresh enthusiasm, and help the chapter not drag. ****I finally got my computer back, so that may explain why I'm able to use the helpful toolbars to make the layout much neater.**

**I hope you'll agree that this chapter felt like a return to form. Or at least, a much better one.**

**I'm still going to try and update once a week, but the day is no longer fixed, so keep that in mind.**

**Also... #100 followers! Woop woop! I could never have expected such a great and loyal readership, and I thank you all for all of your enthusiasm, helpful feedback and kind words. Never doubt that I couldn't be doing this without you :D**

**Be afraid, readers. The monsters in this story arc have some potential to be scary, and you'll have a proper introduction next week. They are formed of a collaboration of my own ideas and some better ones from various Sci-Fi media.**

**Until then, have a great week and stay beautiful everyone.**

**:)**

**ASouffleToScareTwo**


	18. The Rabbit Hole

**Chapter Eighteen: The Rabbit Hole**

"In there?"

Clara's voice was full of disapproval, and her eyes reflected her anxiety. Seeing her discomfort, the Doctor placed his hand reassuringly on her shoulder.

"Of course!" he cried. "Where else could you find great adventure and mystery?"

Clara considered his words, then took another look at the cave entrance. It certainly was an imposing sight to behold: a arch-shaped opening nearly twenty feet in height that led into a pitch black uncertainty. There were broken and battered statues all around, and even though some of their heads were missing, Clara still felt unnerved, like they were watching her.

Turning back to the Doctor, who was still smiling encouragingly, Clara voiced her concern.

"I don't like dark places, Doctor," she asserted, a worried look plastered on her face. "They're all wet and cold. Not to mention the bats and the spiders!"

Madame Vastra found the oppurtunity to speak up. "You won't find any of those here," she assured Clara. "They are Earth specimens, and this is not Earth."

Clara pulled a face. "So... can I expect alien bats and spiders then?" she asked purportedly.

She clearly wasn't looking forward to this.

"What planet is this anyway?" Craig Owens asked, admiring the second sun that was shining slightly brighter above the first.

The Doctor shrugged. "Good question!" he exclaimed, before putting a finger into his mouth and raising it to the air.

"Mirdan!" he determined after a brief few seconds of deliberation.

"The Brown Empire," Jack Harkness continued, calling upon his many years of experience in the Time Agency. "The heart of the spice shipping trade in the Umbasa Federation."

"Right on, Captain!" The Doctor was giving the air a good sonic-ing, and was apparently pleased with the results.

Vastra too seemed impressed with her surroundings. "Ah! I have heard much about this place, where an ancient city sleeps beneath our feet at this very moment, just awaiting our discovery!"

The Doctor grinned enthusiastically. "That's the spirit! Come on Clara, it'll be fun!"

His brown-eyed companion gave a hesitant sigh. "That's what you said before we went to 'Vegas'. And Hedgewicks."

A raised eyebrow from the Doctor. "Weren't they fun?"

"Well... Yeah, I guess..." Clara admitted, looking at her shoes as if searching for backup. "But only because the planet DIDN'T get annihilated by an angry Ice Warrior!"

Craig turned his head, bemusement sweeping across his face. "An Ice What?"

"Long story," the Doctor declared. "Come on Clara! I know you; you're one of the bravest and adventurous people I've ever known! What is it? It must be something big to stand in your way. You can tell me, you know?"

Clara bit her lip, and looked down again. "I really don't like the dark, okay?"

Any atmosphere of sympathy or understanding was dissipated when Steax burst into frivolous laughter. "Humans!" he chortled. "Afraid of everything!"

After shooting daggers at the Sontaran to very little effect, the Doctor went over to Clara and put an arm around her.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to," he offered with a kind smile. "We can go somewhere else! I hear Mirdan has a killer shopping complex!"

"No no," Clara said, quickly jumping into her own defence. "It's fine. We haven't done anything adventurous for a while. I'd hate to let you down again."

The Doctor's eyes were wide and his head was shaking furiously. "Now Miss Oswald," he began firmly. "What makes you think you would be ever capable of that?"

Clara met his eyes with some reluctance. "Well... I kinda screwed up in London, didn't I?"

"What are you talking about?" the Doctor replied, beaming with adoration for his companion. "You saved a man's life! You're a hero!"

A faint glimmer of a smile appeared on Clara's lips. "I don't know..." she muttered.

"A hero," the Doctor reiterated. "Let me down? Clara, whenever I'm with you, I feel like I'm on a new level of high in my life. You give me strength when I have none; guidance when I can't find my way or when I don't even believe in a way. Don't you ever think that again!"

His words pulled at Clara's heart. He was so kind to her; she didn't deserve all this praise. But it didn't matter what she thought. His confessions were mirrored by her own, and she couldn't imagine her life without him by her side.

Now, she knew she couldn't say no. And deep down, neither did she want to.

* * *

**New Flesh.**

**They can smell it.**

**Like salt and pepper.**

**New bodies. After all this time.**

**They can feed again.**

**So long.**

**And so hungry.**

**Feeeeeeeed.**

* * *

"This is the wrong way."

"How do you know?"

"Because it is. It's always the wrong way. The start of a horror movie. The first guy is always the first to get taken. After you!"

Ghak frowned and shrugged, the light on his gun bouncing up and down as he continued to walk through the dark.

"It all looks the same, Siv. You can't tell."

"Yes. It all looks like black. If you can't see a thing, then you ARE lost, aren't you?"

"That's enough!" Paladin Arkenstor was losing his patience listening to the two grown men bickering like children. "The lord will guide us. Keep walking forward."

Siv snorted. "Well lets hope **he** has a map, then."

Ghak could barely see the beaten, crumbling path that lay ahead of him. It was probably for the best, because he was getting the sense of vertigo that meant a very long drop was nearby. If he could see it, it would make him more afraid.

If that made any sense.

When the light illuminated parts of the architecture around him, Ghak had to say he was impressed. Clearly, they were in the midst of an ancient and beautiful structure. He had been able to make out exquisite pillars running all the way along the wall that he was hugging so as not to fall off. It was unlikely that the pillars had served any structural purpose, because they were made of chalk and would therefore pose many a problem for the people that once lived down here. No, Ghak had come to the conclusion that they were for decoration. An ancient civilisation who had the architectural knowledge to favour décor over utility. Now they were the kind of people Ghak would have loved to meet.

Alas, they were long gone, and now he was walking through their graveyard.

Behind him, Siv was treading heavily and with exaggerated weariness. He was definitely getting bored, and when Siv got bored, he got annoying. Real fast.

"So, are you going to tell us what it is exactly that we're going to retrieve?" he asked the Paladin over his shoulder.

Arkenstor sighed deeply. "You're really not supposed to know the details..."

"Come on! This silence is maddening! Talk to us!"

"Look..." Arkenstor continued warily. "I'm not even really authorized to know what this artefact does. It has importance amongst the highest ranking members of our Order, so who would I be to question it?"

Siv was getting impatient. "Yes, okay, but what exactly** is** it?"

The Paladin was getting visibly paranoid of the Old Monk Jeremiah, who was mere metres behind him. "It's called the Soulgrant. Supposedly, it looks like a venerable urn with markings made by the Disciples of Light running along its surface. It has a specific purpose, and as far as I can tell, was sealed here to serve that purpose, or perhaps to protect it from those who wished to prevent it performing its purpose."

"And who would want to do that?" came Siv's reply, sounding somewhat intrigued by this new information.

"Use your head, Private," Arkenstor returned, with a dismissive tone in his voice.

"The Dark," Ghak finished, a shiver running down his spine as he spoke the name of the universe-old felons. "The Disciples of Dark."

"Bah!" Siv scoffed. "No 'one has seen or heard of them in millions of years. They've probably sodded off!"

"Or returned to their slumber," Arkenstor theorized. Unseen in the dark and underneath his helmet, the Paladin was looking very concerned and frankly, quite scared. He considered himself to be a brave man, but there were some things out there in the world that one should never have to get involved with.

The Professor was still tapping away at her communicator whenever she thought no 'one was looking. She seemed annoyed at whomever she was spamming with messages, and could be heard quite clearly cursing them and calling them "Sweetie".

The Paladin, eager to abandon the prior conversation, stops in his tracks for a brief second and turns to the Professor. She doesn't realize he has stopped until she walks right into him, sending them both off balance.

"Ooh, sorry!" she cries. "How clumsy of me!"

The Paladin shrugs it off. "Yes, well... What is your expert opinion, professor? How much further is it?"

"I've no idea, I'm afraid," she openly admitted, prompting confusion from her companions.

"Are you telling me that you have no idea what you are doing?" Arkenstor retorted, a challenge rising in his voice.

"Oh, no, I know what I'm doing. It just might not be the same thing as you."

Everyone had stopped by now, and was looking at the Professor. All that was, except the Monk, who just stood there, staring out into the darkness, his face as blank as a canvas.

"And what would that be?"

The Professor smiled, and she lay the arm that held the communicator to her side so that she could speak directly with the Paladin.

"I'm here to hunt monsters."

Now the Professor was beaming with what appeared to be pride, and her travelling companions were all dumbstruck.

"Oh, and I have a name you know. It's considered very rude to call a woman by her profession! Besides, I don't really have a permanent position. I can't help it! It's hard to keep a job down with a history like mine."

The Paladin shook himself out of his stun, and called out to Ghak and Siv. "Arrest this woman, now!"

After an uncertain pause, the two cleric soldiers moved towards the Professor, but she simply whipped out the pistol of her own, and held it squarely at their faces.

"Now, now, boys," she laughed. "You really don't want to do anything you'll regret later."

Ghak held back, but Siv wasn't letting himself be intimidated by what was, in comparison to his own weapon, a baby.

"You said it yourself, **Professor**," Siv taunted as he approached her confidently. "Ours are bigger on the outside."

Where there might have fear on the face of any normal woman who knew she was about to get arrested, instead, on the Professor's face, there was an adrenaline-fuelled delight.

And, all of a sudden, she clicked her finger on the trigger of her pistol, and before Siv's eyes, it transformed. New panels slid out, and the barrel widened to a gigantic size. In about five seconds, the Professor's pistol had been turned into a bazooka.

"I lied," she said with a soft, apologetic smile. "And it's Melody Pond, by-the-way. Pleased to meet you."

Siv dropped his gun in surprise and the light on the end of it smashed into a thousand pieces and went out, partially obscuring parts of the ground that he was once illuminating.

"Now look what you've done!" River Song cried. "We needed that light! Now our survival chances are going to be reduced by quite a lot. Good thing you have me to counteract that, huh?"

The Paladin was lost for words. "Melody Pond? The criminal? The woman who killed the-"

_"Doctor."_

The voice sounded from behind where they were standing. Ghak raised his gun in alarm, but River Song noticed and flashed him a disarming smile. "Don't be silly there, sweetie. He's on our side."

_"That depends on your outlook," _the unseen voice continued. "_Are you here to stir up trouble? Are you ego-driven, power-hungry, or corrupted to a stage where no medicine can ever help you?"_

There was silence from the Church party. Then, the Paladin cautiously spoke out. "No. We are men of God."

River Song laughed. "Same thing, isn't it?"

A man stepped out of the shadows to put his hand on Song's shoulder. "Now, now, dear," he said softly. "Play nice."

He was wearing a black tweed jacket, and a bowtie that screamed 'Out of place in n a catacomb'.

River shrugged him off, and gave him a grin that would of made the Cheshire Cat proud. "Never."

"Been a while, hasn't it?" the Doctor said, with a sad yet nostalgic smile on his lips. "I haven't seen you since Manhattan."

They both knew what that meant for them, and so the sympathy and sorrow was exchanged between them through their glances.

"Well, I haven't seen you since the Byzantium," River declared. She sounded annoyed at the remembrance of that event. "I didn't get that pardon, you know? I'm still working it off, now."

"Oh," the Doctor said in a cheeky whisper. "You're still my bad girl, aren't you?"

"You know it, sweetie."

**"_My_ bad girl?"**

The Paladin could barely believe his eyes as a further eight or so people came out of the darkness behind them as well, including a young, brunette woman, who had been the one that had spoken. There was a look of horror and shocked realisation on her face, as well as some well-concealed hurting.

"And _sweetie?" _

* * *

The Doctor looked incredibly unsure of what to do in this situation, where it seemed to Ghak that both of his two lovers had come into contact with each other. But what a place to have a confrontation! This could be interesting!

"Uh... Clara, this is River Song. She's my..." He tailed off, truly lost for words.

"Girlfriend?" Clara assumed. The heartbreak was coherent in her voice.

"Wife," River finished.

If looks could kill, then the Doctor would be six feet under from the stare that Clara gave him. "Wife!?"

The Doctor looked sheepish, and began to scratch the back of his head self-consciously. "Well... yes. But not really..."

Clara walked right over to the Doctor, her eyes ablaze with confusion and anger. Then, she slapped him hard around the face, causing him to jump back in shock.

"Ow!" he cried. "What was that for?"

"For lying to me! For leading me on! I thought you were really something you know? But you're just like every other man. You see something pretty, and you want to touch it!"

"Clara, please! I can explain!"

Clara folded her arms, and turned away from him in a huff. "Save it! I'm done with you!"

The Doctor tried to move toward her, but she raised her fist to ward him off.

"Leave me alone!" she cried, as bitter tears glazed her eyes over. The sight of them, and knowing that he was the cause of them, ripped at the Doctor's insides, and he felt overwhelming pangs of guilt.

Craig tried to grab her arm, but Clara shook it off, and ran off into the dark, the sound of her shoes clacking against the stone fading into the distance.

**"Clara!"** the Doctor cried after her. Realising she wasn't coming back, he turned to River and gave her a good glaring. "You didn't have to do that! That was just spiteful!"

River shrugged. "Seems like you're the one who has explaining to do."

The Paladin, tiring of being completely ignored, spoke up. "And who the devil are you lot? The travelling pantomime? You must be pretty badly lost."

Still choosing to ignore the Paladin, the Doctor grabbed River's shoulders and gave her a meaningful stare. "What are you doing here, River?"

"Same thing as you, Sweetie. Like a moth to a flame. A dark, damp catacomb. How could a girl resist?"

The Doctor simply couldn't believe what he was hearing. "For Gallifrey's sake, River! You really do have a habit of dropping in and causing trouble, don't you? What is it this time? More _archaeology_?"

The emphasis he put on his pronunciation of 'archaeology' served partly to reiterate his distaste for the profession. But for the most part it was intended simply to grate at River.

"Well I'm sorry, Sweetie," River replied, but in a voice that implied she had no intention of meaning it. "Do you know how hard it is for a person with my history to get a job? It was either this, or the Fishmongers outside Dorium's Emporium. And you KNOW how badly that place stinks!"

The Doctor frowned. "Oh, so now it's my fault for dying, is it? You really know how to irritate me, don't you?"

River laughed. "Just one of the perks of being married, sweetie."

_"We are not married."_

River pulled a face. "Really? Have we done Serras yet? Now there's a day we'll never forget! That bowtie!"

The Doctor gave her a dismissive hand. "I need to go find Clara. If anything happens to her, I don't know what I'll do."

"Replaced me already, have you?"

"We are **not** doing this now."

And with that, the strange 'Doctor' man was gone, in pursuit of his stricken companion. After a few seconds, River flashed the Church Party an apologetic smile.

"Sorry gents. The hubby's in a strop again. I need to take this."

Then, she skipped off after him.

Now, there was an angry Sontaran, two dumbstruck humans, a confused Time Agent and an indifferent Silurian left standing, facing the completely bewildered Church party.

Siv, who had been uncharacteristically quiet all this time, took that moment to speak.

"What the f-"

**And that was when all of the lights went out.**

* * *

Clara Oswald had been running for a good few minutes now, and in her desperation not to see that stupid chin of his again, she had found new energy she didn't know she had. Her feet were aching from the exertion on the cold, stone floor but it was nothing compared with the straight-up scalding that pierced her heart.

How could the Doctor do this to her? All this time, he'd just been leading her on, when he knew full well about his _wife._

And to think she'd really thought... that he might be the one...

That would teach her never to let her heart rule her head ever again.

She just wanted to get out of there. Wherever there was. But running in almost pitch-blackness had proven tricky, and as Clara tripped and fell for the third time, she no longer felt the ground beneath her, and with a vocally tearing scream, she plummeted a good few metres, and landed in a tumbled heap, grazing her knee and landing on her back in the process.

Hot tears of pain welled up in her eyes, as she looked around desperately for some sort of light.

But there was none. She was alone. In the dark.

And Clara Oswald _really_ hated the dark.

This was how she was going to die, for sure. Or at least, that was what she was thinking. Alone; heartbroken; afraid.

What a way to go.

She could have sworn she heard voices as she lay there in the dark, shivering. But they didn't sound like they belonged to the Doctor or anyone she knew, in fact.

**-Remember-**

"Who's there?" Clara cried, all-but-aware she may screaming at herself.

A cold wind blew down her spine as if in response to her query, made ever more sinister by the confusing concept of wind blowing underground. In retrospect, Clara realised that it felt more like ice-cold breath than a force of nature.

"Hello? Anyone?" she hollered, her discomfort and nervousness bleeding through into her words, and shaking them up like an earthquake.

There was no reply. Clara was actually getting quite scared by this point. By now, she actually wanted the Doctor to find her. Anything; _anything_ was better than this.

A hand landed on her shoulder, making her scream louder than she ever had in her entire life. Craning her neck around revealed a gigantic pair of yellow, glassy eyes and a row of razor-sharp jagged teeth. Clara wanted to cry out again, in the hope that someone would find her, but found no air in her lungs, the scream trapped and dying in her throat as a result.

**-Remember, Clara Oswald-**

Alarming as the creatures physical presence was, Clara found herself entirely more repulsed by the manner of which it spoke. It barely used its mouth, but this wasn't surprising, considering a quick examination of the creatures long throat had revealed a lack of vocal chords. Where the back of its throat should have been, there was a strange vortex of white mist. It was unlike anything Clara had ever seen, and it made her remember the words of Madame Vastra spoken not 3 hours ago.

_"They are Earth specimens, and this is not Earth."_

It certainly was not, and this creature was quite possibly the strangest specimen Clara had ever encountered.

And she'd been to Akhaten.

"Please." She managed to summon a barely audible whisper with the last ounces of her strength. "Let go..."

But the creature seemed to have no intention of doing so. In fact, its grip appeared to be subtly tightening, and her shoulder was beginning to go numb, the rest of her body with it. Standing up to try and escape proved fruitless, as her legs failed to operate.

The last thing Clara saw before she passed out was the strange white fog that had enticed her morbid curiosity only moments ago, and now consumed her completely.

* * *

"Clara?"

The Doctor had been searching for almost an hour now, and although he still held out hope, his faint cry for his missing companion did not express this.

"She can't have gone far," River pointed out. "It's not like she knows the place, is it?"

The Doctor shook his head, disbelieving of the situation, a concept he was not really familiar with.

"She told me that she used to get lost as a child. And in this darkness, who could blame her?"

River hadn't said a lot since they had set off, and it was clear that somewhere beneath her half-psychotic personality was a whole trove of guilt. River_ was_ a good person, even if she didn't always like to show it.

"I didn't mean to cause trouble," she conveyed in a sad voice.

"I know that."

"It's just..." her voice faltered, as if she didn't quite know how to put her point delicately. "I didn't expect you to have moved on from me so quickly..."

There was a heavy sigh from beside her, and she knew it could only belong to the Doctor. "Please... don't make this difficult."

"Oh, no sweetie. Believe me, I understand! If I had nine-hundred years to live, I wouldn't settle for one person either. Especially not someone wearing a ridiculous bowtie."

"Oi!"

Despite the situation, River laughed out loud, and her voice echoed around the cave in which they walked.

"River... it's just... you're not always here, okay? You pop in and out of my life, and we have these great adventures, and then you go back to prison and all's tickety boo! But, I need someone who can take care of me... when even I can't. Clara needs me as much as I need her. We're two of a kind. Travellers; explorers; lovers of soufflé."

"I understand, Doctor," River clarified again, so that her slow-to-catch-on 'husband' could catch on. "At this point in my life, we've nearly done it all. When I last saw you, you took me to the Cascade of the Fallen Kings... have we done that yet?"

"No. Not yet."

"Ah, well... now there's a story! _Spoilers! _But, anyway, you told me something, then, and I haven't been able to keep it off my mind ever since. You said: 'Everybody knows that everybody dies. But not every day.'"

"Yes."

"And I wanted you to know that... you know, just in case this is the last time, sweetie..." River's voice begins to break, as she loses control of her emotion. "_I have had the best time of my life. Thank you."_

The Doctor turns to her, and smiles, even though she can't see it in the dark. "No, Melody Pond, thank _you._"

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a distinct shape, and immediately his attention is directed fully at it.

"Clara? Clara!?"

Running now, the Doctor reaches her crumpled body, and bends down next to her.

"Clara?"

He puts his hands to her face, and gives her a little shake. "Clara, please, wake up!"

Feeling her chest quickly, River is quick to deduce: "She's fine. She's just unconscious."

And, as if to align with this, Clara's dainty brown eyes flutter open dazedly.

"Clara?" The relief in the Doctor's voice is unmistakable. "Thank god!" Clara?"

Clara's eyes struggle to focus on the shape before her. For a moment, as her vision clears and she sees a lanky man with a bowtie and abnormal chin, she thinks she recognizes him. But then, the moment is gone, and is replaced by confusion.

"Who are you?" she manages to mutter.

The Doctor and River exchange a worried glance. "It's me, Clara," the Doctor expresses, his hands gently on her shoulders. "It's the Doctor."

"Doctor."

"Yes."

Clara just stares, her face becoming itself a soufflé made of disorientation, confusion, and rising panic as she comes to terms with the concept that she hasn't got a clue where she is, or what is going on.

"Doctor? What do you mean, the Doctor?"

"You know, Clara," the Doctor says, his voice overcome with worry and desperation. "Chin boy! Time boy!"

But there is no spark of life in those dull eyes. Nothing but fear, and distress.

"Doctor _**who**_!?"

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**Next Chapter: Light**

**So sorry about the long update times as of late. I've been having computer trouble :P**

**And no, I really don't want to appear sexist with Clara once again the one in trouble. It goes deeper than that, I promise. It's all arc-related.**

_**On an unrelated note, I am now on the lookout for a team of betas. Two to three is preferable. The story hasn't been getting quite the response that it used to, and I am eager to find out why. Beta privileges include: early access to new chapters, and a chance to have your own input into them. You'll also get a dedication at the end of each chapter absolutely free. Oh, and I guess I'll get you some Jammy Dodgers :)**_

_**If you're interested, then leave me a review, or a PM. **_

**_ASouffleToServeTwo_**


	19. Light

**Chapter Nineteen: _Light_**

Attempting to rally a crowd of panicked people in the pitch black was akin to herding chickens with a pack of wolves at the helm.

But the task fell to Arkenstor, who (as the leader of the expedition) had some responsibility for his charges.

"Don't panic!" he ordered, fiddling with the torch strapped around his head.

"Something touched my leg!" Craig Owens yelled. "Oh god! It's got me! Get it off!"

Jack Harkness moved his leg, sheepishly. "Sorry, Craig."

"These things are always on the fritz!" Arkenstor alluded. "Cheap crap, but pretty durable. They'll fix themselves, just hang tight."

Ghak felt overwhelmingly disorientated by his lack of sight. This nausea, coupled with his vertigo, became a combination to turn any stomach.

Falling to his knees, Ghak made no further effort to contain himself.

"Ugh!" Siv cried in anguish. "Those were my favourite boots!"

The Paladin had been tinkering with his torch (which had mainly involved smashing it repeatedly on the wall) when he seemingly got it to work again. "Nearly... got it... Aha!"

The light flashed on for just long enough to illuminate a pair of razor sharp jaws before it was snuffed out, along with the cries of the Paladin as he was snatched from his stance.

His predators were silent, and in the darkness and hysteria, his disappearance wasn't even noticed by his fellows.

All through the mass panicking, there had been one who hadn't even blinked the whole way through. This man was now smiling of-all-things; grinning wider than a motorway.

Jeremiah's eyes glistened as they locked with the pupils of another. Through the eyes of one, they saw hunger, and pursuit of satiation. And through the other pair, there was only chaos.

The creature barely had the chance to breathe before Jeremiah brought his cane around, and bonked it straight across its face.

The moment the contact was made, the creature lit up brightly. In fact, 'brightly' was an understatement. This thing didn't so much as burn but explode, and the others that were present at the time were just lucky that had not been looking, for it would have certainly blinded them.

They definitely heard it though.

"What the hell was that?" Craig cried as the thunderclap sent his eardrums reeling.

Strax had pulled out his gun and was yelling brutishly. "Come face me you fiends!"

Vastra quickly grabbed the weapon, her accute senses making up for the lack of sight.

"Strax!" she scalded. "We are in a cave! You'll almost certainly cause a landslide!"

"So I can't use my gun?"

"No!" Vastra shouted, before covering her mouth from the realisation that she too could cause the same fate.

"Can I use my grenades?"

"No, Strax!" Strax was well-known for having the mental age of a child anyway, but telling him he couldn't use his weapons reduced him to a toddler. As a result, this refusal sent Strax into a strop.

"No really Jack..." Craig grunted as he felt around in the dark. "Once was bad enough. Keep to your own personal space, will you?"

The Time Agent's reply sent a chill all the way down Craig's spine. "I'm not touching anything, Craig!"

There was panic in Craig's eyes as they swivelled across the darkness, trying desperately to identify the culprit.

Then he felt it on the back of his neck.

Breath. Unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Colder than ice, it quite literally made him shiver in his boots.

He couldn't bring himself to even look around. He just squeezed his eyes shut and started to whimper.

"Craig?" Vastra called. "Are you alright?"

"It's right behind me!" he whispered, moments before he was grabbed by his head and pulled backwards. The second he felt the clammy touch he passed out, so he never got to see the big pair of yellow eyes boring straight into him.

**Remember, Craig Owens. Remember.**

_**And he did.**_ _He was five years old, and was on his routine visit to the playpark. The sun was shining, the grass was blowing softly in the wind, and all was well. Just as he remembered it._

_He could feel the chill from his ice cream like he was holding it right there and now. That was how clear it was._

_He was on the swing. His swing. Every time he visited the park, he and the swing were inseparable. Like an old friend. Craig would have happily spent his entire day on it._

_He could see the rust on the chains, as if it was brand new. That revolting slab of chewing gum that had been stuck to the top bar, countless months before. The green moss that had started to accumulate on the nearby trees, heralding the start of autumn._

_It was all there. Just as he remembered it._

_Still in the creature's grasp, but no longer aware of being so, Craig began to smile gently as the memory shimmered in front if his eyes._

_"Hello."_

_And her voice! The slight shrillness that leant so much to her character. The brown ponytails which characterised her head. That dainty little smile that wavered on her cherry pink lips._

_"Hi."_

_"Can I sit down next to you?"_

_Of course he minded a little! This was his swing set! Or at least, that was his mindset. But here she was, this little girl no older than he was, and with a smile so lush and friendly, who was he to refuse?_

_"Sure!"_

_"Thank you!"_

_There was a clang of metal as she fell into place on the rickety seat beside him, and the chains that supported it jangled as her weight settled in, and she turned to look at him, the familiar smile still very much alive on her face._

_"Do you like the swing?"_

_"Yeah. I like it the best when I get up really high, and it's like I can see my house!"_

_She giggled a bit, her rosy cheeks glimmering in the sunlight. "Cool."_

_"Yeah. My dad used to have to do it for me. But now I can do it for myself! See?"_

_He did a little kick to demonstrate, and his seat swung gently like a tired pendulum._

_"Can you teach me?"_

_"It takes a lot of practice. You need to move your legs just as you reach the top. Like this!"_

_She tries to copy him, but her efforts end fruitlessly, the only notable end result being a flurry of mud which she stirred up as she demolished the ground with her feet._

_"I can't do it!" she moaned, exasperated tears welling in her eyes._

_"Don't worry!" he enthused. "It took me ages and ages to get it! You'll get there, and I'll help you!"_

_Her tears evaporated in an instant, replaced with a glowing hope and admiration for her new friend._

_"Thank you," she replied with a shy grin._

_"I'm Craig, by the way," he declared._

_She smiled back at him, and it made him feel all gooey inside. "I'm Sophie. Nice to meet you!"_

_Golden days like that were aplenty in his childhood. But none so bright as that day. The day when he met his lifelong best friend. The day when he met his Sophie._

_The best day of his life. Right in front of his eyes._

Gone.

"Craig!" Jack yelled, bringing Craig out of his daze and back to the dire situation that was the present.

He felt hands heaving him up on to his legs, but the second they were removed, he realized he had not the strength to maintain himself, and collapsed back onto his knees, keeling over and passing out.

"Craig! Oh no!"

Jack felt his friend's windpipe, and traced his fingers all the way down his neck.

Vastra managed to get across to them in the darkness, and was equally alarmed by the state she saw.

"Is he breathing?" she asked, inwardly panicking but maintaining her cool concentration.

Jack nodded, but it was not enthusiastic. "Yes. But only slightly. We need to get him to a doctor, and quickly!"

"That might be a problem, considering we can't see two feet in front of us!"

"Just... just help me! Please! Take his legs!"

Vastra did as she was ordered, but found that not even her Silurian strength could carry the burden.

"Strax! Get over here!"

With a groan, the Sontaran toddled over in the direction of her voice.

"Help us carry him!"

"Are you certain that my throwing knives would not be of more use here, miss?"

"Yes! Now hurry!"

Reluctantly, Strax obeyed, but he was constantly chattering away nonetheless about his 'Sontaran heritage to use weapons'.

With a mighty heave, they managed to lift Craig into the air, but he was a greater burden than they had anticipated, and within seconds, they were being overwhelmed.

Jack felt his body curving sideways, and heard the rush of wind as it slapped him in the face. By now he had let go of Craig, but it wouldn't have mattered anyway.

The last thing he heard after he hit the ground hard and his vision blurred was a protracted hissing sound from somewhere next to him.

Then the darkness swallowed him whole.

* * *

**-Meanwhile-**

"Clara, what are you talking about? It's me! It's the Doctor!"

Despite his pleas, his companion couldn't recollect him, and there was a cloudy confusion hazed in her brown eyes.

"Where am I? What is this place?" she asked frivolously. There was so much around her to take in that she seemed to be having a problem actually comprehending any of it. Sort of like when a tree that has fallen in a river becomes it's dam.

Her eyes widened further all-of-a-sudden, as a dark thought crossed her mind. Her mouth agape, she pointed at the Doctor and River.

"You're kidnappers, aren't you?" she whispered. "This is some sort of... holding cell, for whilst you get the ransom!"

Frowning, the Doctor and River exchanged glances.

"Kidnappers? Do I look like a kidnapper?" the Doctor exclaimed. "Just cause I'm with her?"

"Oi!" River cried, slapping his arm in distaste.

"No, we're not kidnappers," the Doctor confirmed, his hands outstretched to declare his non-dangerous intentions. "We're here to help."

Seeing Clara's expression soften a little, the Doctor took it as a sign to approach.

A sign much mistaken.

"Agh!" he cried as Clara's fist connected sharply with his jaw. "Twice in one day, really?"

"I'm sorry about him," River declared. "He can be a bit... excitable. He has Mad Cow Disease."

"Oh, come on! Really? Was that the best you could come up with?"

River tutted to Clara, and mimed pulling a rag through her ears.

"What my friend here was trying to say is that we're a paramedic team. You've been injured, and we need to examine you."

Clara nodded slowly, starting to calm down and accept rationality. "He said 'the Doctor'," she pointed out, alluding to the Time Lord sat near her, who was rubbing his aching chin.

"That's right. This is Doctor Smith, and I'm Nurse Pond. Now, may we examine you? It's for your own good."

After a brief moment of deliberation, Clara gave in to them and nodded.

Smiling reassuringly, River reached her hands down to her back, feeling her spine for fractures. Finding none, she gave the Doctor the thumbs up.

"She's fine. No serious damage. She'll be absolutely fine."

Relief exploded all over the Doctor's face as he stopped nervously twiddling his thumbs and smiled gratefully. "Thank god."

Clara's lips parted into the start of a smile herself. She was much more calm now; her hysteria moments before a thing of the past.

"Can we go now?" she inquired. "I don't like this place. Too dark. Could be full of-"

"Spiders," the Doctor finished. "And bats."

Clara looked stunned. "Yes... That was exactly what I was going to say... How did you know that?"

The Doctor was quick to shrug. "Just a well-educated guess. I'm not much of a fan myself."

After a few moments of strange staring between the pair had passed, Clara repeated the question to River, who she was clearly more comfortable speaking with.

"Yes, of course," River replied, a kind smile on her face. "Just let me have a brief talk with my colleague, and we'll be on our way."

Clara seemed utterly reassured by River's convincing words, but the second the Doctor locked eyes with the professor for himself, the whole foundation of the lie collapsed.

It wasn't good news. That much was deducible simply from the look in River's eyes. Her pupils were dilated. Meaning she was troubled. The Doctor had seen it in her eyes enough times to recognise it for what it was.

"Does she have a head trauma?" the Doctor whispered, so not to be overheard.

River shook her head, her long curly hair flapping along with it. "No. She's fine."

But the Doctor wasn't convinced. "Oh. Okay."

"You don't sound like you're okay with it. What's up?"

"Well... It's just, you didn't even look at her head, and yet you can tell she hasn't got a concussion."

"I'm a good Doctor," River retorted, with all the speed and forced sweetness of a hissing cobra. "Unlike yourself."

"Cut it, sweetie. What aren't you telling me? You knew it wasn't a head trauma that caused her memory loss. Tell me. Now."

For the first time in hours, River's face was straight, with all the seriousness of a doctor giving the bad news to her patient.

"Not 'why'," she said softly. "_Who._ They're called Revenants."

"Never heard of them."

"Oh, you wouldn't have. They predate even you! Beings of unspeakable power from a long dead age, surviving against all the odds stacked against them."

"Yes, but what are they?"

"Hunters. They scoured the universe in search of matter to consume, travelling from planet to planet, star to star, until there was nothing in that entire system. And then they moved on. Entire galaxies, fallen beneath their unquenchable thirst for more."

"They sound delightful."

"They were. Everyone and everything that had ever lived knew that they must be stopped. Eventually, the Disciples of Light sealed them down here, amongst the bones of their very last feast. Protected by a seal; the ultimate padlock, for they cannot touch it. Buried beneath the ground with them, to serve as the plug in the hole that they were creating. The Disciples knew it as 'Liberut Mundi' - the liberator. But it has come to be known as the Soulgrant."

The Doctor groaned and put his hand on his head in exasperation. "And that's why the Church is here, isn't it? Humans... you hear about something... and you want to see it for yourself. Some people just shouldn't have space travel."

"Oh I agree!" River insisted. "The Paladin's group don't have any idea what they're dealing with. Somewhere, the Grant's purpose has been lost in translation. They believe it to be a lost relic; they're here to 'reclaim' it."

"And you're here to stop them."

"You know me, sweetie. Dashing hero, in the nick of time. Always glad to be of service."

"That's all well and good, but what has this got to do with Clara?"

"Ah!" River exclaimed. "Now that's the tricky part."

"Enlighten me. I like a good challenge."

"The food source that the Revenants seek... are memories. The good ones... and the bad ones. The stronger they are, the better. They quite literally suck them out of you."

Now the Doctor's jubilance had completely expired, replaced by a stern concern. "And that's whats happened to Clara?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Damn it!" the Doctor yelled, no longer caring if Clara could hear him. "I promised to protect her, but once again I've just put her in _more_ danger!"

"Believe it or not, she's been very lucky."

"Excuse me?"

"Normally, the Revenant will literally take your entire memory. But they've been weakened by their time spent down here. Seems like they can only take isolated memories. There's a chance we can get her back, but we have to get to the Soulgrant. Like, sharpish!"

The Doctor snapped his fingers impatiently. "Well, come on then! What are we waiting for? _Let's go meet the 'Revenants'_."

* * *

_-Approximately half an hour later; several hundred feet below-_

It was not the first impossible thing he'd seen that day. But it certainly was the prettiest.

In this underground labyrinth which got lighter the further down you went. Where the air was cleaner and purer than the planet above.

Impossible. Ludicrous.

The strangest thing he'd ever seen.

Until now.

A waterfall that cascaded upwards. Water that rushed from the crystal blue lake below, ascending hundreds of metres to an opening on the ceiling.

It was like there was no time here. His foot had grazed a pile of rocks, but instead of them being sent flying over the cliff edge, they had become stuck in the air, and were now floating up there, along with all the dust.

It made him feel like he was in the atmosphere of the planet. But in truth, he was hundreds of thousands of feet below it.

"It must be the Soulgrant," River deduced. "The kind of power needed to generate a forcefield like that _would_ be immense. We're getting closer."

The Doctor nodded, before doing his routine check to see if Clara was still following. She was.

She had gone quiet though, so it was hard to tell. She'd stopped asking questions a while back, and was now just going with the flow.

Ah. That was what he liked most about her. Ninety-percent of human beings are comforted by a rational explanation. Ten-percent are willing to suspend their belief, and simply enjoy something unusual for what it is.

That excitement for new experiences. He loved it in Clara, because then he could share in the satisfaction by taking them there himself.

Her enthusiasm never waned; her astounded smile never fading. He would give her all of it, if he could.

Oh Clara. This was his fault.

He had wanted to blame himself; hit himself; call himself names.

_But - by now - he just wanted her back._

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Clara pick a droplet of water out of the air where it had been floating, untouched by gravity.

She watched with wide eyes as the droplet rolled up and down her bare arm without any input on her part.

"That's _amazing!"_ she whispered to herself, her eyes ablaze with gentle sparkles of joy.

"Oh, you haven't seen the best bit yet," River assured her. "Now have a look at that!"

They passed the corner, and all three of them were just frozen to the spot.

_In the centre of the humungous cavern in which they now stood, was a wormhole. But not the timey-wimey kind of wormhole, oh no. With a timey-wimey wormhole, time and space are drawn around and through it, like water running down a plughole._

_This wormhole, however, was a conjuration of light and dark. It was nonsensical. At a point impossible for the human eye to perceive, light and dark swarmed around each other, repelling one another like magnets, and yet held in a perpetual orbit. A sphere shape._

Clara's eyes were aching trying to follow the trajectory of the swirling. The edges rippled, and it was just unlike anything she had ever seen, with or without her memories.

Her voice faltered as she spoke, cracked by the sheer majesty of what lay before her. "What... is that?"

The Doctor had taken out a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, identical to the ones he wore on Akhaten. Amelia Pond's reading glasses.

He didn't need to wear them, as his sight was perfectly intact. However, his companions had noticed him wearing them at significant moments, almost as though he was revelling in them as much as he was the sight that lay before him.

"That is just... impossible," he whispered. He was beaming, awestruck by the anomaly that even he couldn't understand. "Beautiful, but impossible..."

River laid her hand on his shoulder. "Aren't we all?"

"The Soulgrant, I presume?"

"Yes."

"I have never... ever seen anything like it... And that really is saying something. A thousand years... Never thought I was missing out on this much."

"Takes a lot to impress _you_, sweetie."

The Doctor was impressed, yet he maintained his guard closely at all times. Right he was to do so too, for the second he pulled out his Sonic Screwdriver to scan the area, a gigantic rock plummeted to the ground in front of him, shattering and sending splinters of broken rock in all directions.

"Aah!" Clara cried, as it snapped her straight out of her trance.

River narrowed her eyes at the broken fragments. "A trap of some kind? To keep people from reaching the Soulgrant? The Disciples of Light made it, perhaps?"

The Doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully, seemingly un-phased by his near-death encounter. "Maybe. No. No, actually. I don't think that's whats going on here."

"Oh?"

"Look at the inward trajectory of the rock. It wasn't intended to keep people out. I believe it was meant to keep them in."

"But... what purpose would that serve? The Soulgrant mustn't be disturbed! The Disciples knew that!"

The Doctor gave her a long, hard stare. "We can't trust the Disciples of Light. They are not on our side. I've encountered one of their contraptions before. On Krop Tor. It was intended to imprison the Beast, but the Beast was fully capable of opening it himself. It didn't matter; it wasn't the point. The real trap was inside of it. A trap within a trap. **Trapception!"**

"Could you talk a bit slower, sweetie? I'm having trouble keeping up!"

"Look, you're not getting it! It was never their intention to ward us off at all! They made it easy for us to enter this place. No traps... Until we had gotten closer to the Soulgrant! My sonic disrupted the mechanism; caused it to be released earlier than planned. They don't want us to stay away! They _wanted_ us to be here!"

"No... That can't be right. I've been through countless translations of their artifacts. They were not on the side of evil!"

"Maybe not at the beginning! You said it yourself, River. These 'Revenants' were an unstoppable force of nature, right? Nothing could stop them, and then suddenly they find out that this Soulgrant can imprison them here? No! This is all a trap. The Revenants aren't imprisoned here. This is their home. This is _their_ civilisation!"

River took it all in, and could do nothing but gasp, her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god..."

Visitors!

The Doctor spun around, trying to identify the source of the strange voice. "Show yourself!"

**So long! No visitors. Clever visitors! So many thoughts; feelings. So much hunger! We will feed!**

A streak of black descended in front of his eyes. A creature with jet black eyeballs and skin the consistency of smoky grey fog. Rows of razor-sharp teeth glinted in the dim light, and were all bared for him to see.

Where it's voice had come from was unclear. From the shape of it's 'neck', it couldn't possibly have vocal chords. And yet, it had spoken.

In plural.

"I take it I am addressing the Revenants," the Doctor called out, standing tall as ever whilst his companions stood back, cowering.

**Revenants. That name! So long! Visitor, one of _them_?**

"One of who? The Disciples?"

**The Yellow Coats! The Monks!**

"The ones who pleaded with you, because they were reduced to no other option?"

**The Lights! So afraid, they were. So desperate.**

"So you made a deal with them?"

**Struck! Bring more visitors! More feeding! More thoughts!**

"You agreed to stay down here, stopping in your universe-wide conquest. And in return, the Disciples agreed to bring you people to feed on?"

**Hungry! Many visitors! Five hundred years. We feast!**

"Every five hundred years, they send you people to consume. People who never knew what was coming. People who were scared, right until the very end when you ate them!"

**So many memories! Feelings! Hungry! So hungry!**

The Doctor was getting angry, but he refused to give the creature any satisfaction from seeing him so.

"I wish I'd known about this sooner. It's sick. That's what the Paladin's group is doing here. They believed they were coming to retrieve an artefact. For honour. When, in reality, they were being prepped for live bait."

All of a sudden, the Revenant noticed Clara where she was crouching, terrified behind a rock.

**This one! So many thoughts! So many feelings! The greatest feast in a million years!**

Balling his fists, the Doctor stood face-to-face with it. "Don't you dare talk about her like that! Like she's just food. She is so, so much more than that! Than you could ever be! All of you!"

The Revenant was indifferent to his demands. But he continued nonetheless.

"You don't understand memories! You just eat them. Never understanding just how powerful they really are. They're a window into the accomplishments of a life! Learning to ride a bike; passing an exam; sharing a first kiss with someone special. These moments are infinite. You can't put a price tag on them! You're just living in their shadows."

**Hungry. Must feed again.**

"Oh no! No,no,no,no! No! You are never going to feast again! And you know why?"

The silence indicated that it did not.

"Because I'm going to stop you. Right now."

**Impossible. We are the rolling thunder. A force of nature. Man cannot prevent what he cannot understand.**

"Oh, I see. So I don't understand, huh? Well... let me put it to you bluntly."

He began to take off his jacket, as if dressing for work. And when the Doctor was at work, he meant business.

"You really need to work on keeping your weaknesses hidden. For example! You talk in plural about yourselves. Now, that could just be an aesthetic detail that I'm overlooking but it's far more likely that the Revenant species is in fact... A _hive mind_!"

The creature wasn't listening any more, if it ever really was. It's jaws were wide open, and a white fog began to churn at the back of it's throat.

"Don't get me wrong, now! I love a good hive mind! The Apputax! The Bluboon! The Chandrax! All pleasant, kind races. Admirably so. Them I like! But then I find you! All "eat this" and "feast that!". It's all rather depressing, really. I don't like you. You're not a nice hive mind. So I have no problem at all... doing this!"

Green light exploded from the tip of his raised screwdriver, and the effect was instantaneous. Screeching. Horrific, gut-wrenching squealing that echoed the full length and breadth of the cavern.

The pitch of the noise made it clear that there were multiple voices involved. Indistinguishable from each other; bleeding together as one.

Clara covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate attempt to shut herself away from it. The noise was horrible, and was probably doing irrevocable damage to her eardrums.

The Revenant swayed around in the air, it's transparent grey 'body' rippling and convulsing. The sound waves were literally pulling it apart at a molecular scale.

Lethal, for sure. And the Doctor would likely have succeeded, if not for (quite literal), divine intervention.

His screwdriver suddenly shattered, smoke and sparks leaking from it as it broke into hundreds of charred pieces.

_Silence fell; as did the pieces._

The look on the Doctor's face was one of pain and remorse. It was hard for his companions to look at him. A bystander would probably conclude that he had lost a child.

In a way, he had.

Jeremiah stood atop the pillar that overlooked them, like a tyrannical king above his subjects. His staff was still raised in the air from where he had used it, and the light was still in the process of diminishing from its tip.

"You!" the Doctor scowled, his mourning period over as quickly as it had begun. "It was you. All along!"

River tried to stand up on her legs and come to his assistance, but she found herself unable. As if the atmosphere itself had completely sapped her.

She did however manage to call out. "Doctor?"

"It's him, don't you see?"

"He's an old man, Doctor. How can this all be down to him?"

"You're right. He is old. In fact, I'd say he was ancient. Ladies... and Revenants, may I introduce you to the last surviving Disciple of Light."

River gasped. "Oh my god..."

"They needed someone to carry out their millenia-old agreement. A shepherd, to herd the sheep. How long have you been leading people to their deaths, Jeremiah?"

The Monk didn't reply; just watched on. His face a blank slate, emotion seemingly unwilling to go near his creased features.

"Don't want to answer?" the Doctor called to him. "Or maybe you _can't._ Centuries of confinement have reduced the once 'great' Revenants to mindless swines. Why wouldn't it do the same to you?"

Then, almost as if to counter the Time Lord's jabs, the Monk's glassy eyes flickered a dull red. His cracked, dry lips parted.

And the silence was broken.

"Perhaps. Or perhaps generations of working alongside one another have granted us a telepathic bond. Becoming two pieces of the same jigsaw. I am their vessel, Doctor. Through me, the Revenants can speak again."

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Well okay... I wasn't expecting that. Fair enough, though! No surprises would be too boring!"

He began to pace about, like he always did when a million thoughts crossed his mind in one second. "So then! The Revenants have a mouthpiece! Let's have a chinwag then! _One god to another."_

The former Monk parted his arms, and the shadows around him began to flit and flutter along his yellow sleeves. He held the appearance of a snake charmer.

Perhaps that was all he was now.

"We know why you have come, Doctor. You wish to retrieve the memories of your companion. Miss Clara Oswald. Correct?"

"Faultless."

"Except now I introduce a new variable to you. Craig Owens."

In response to the hive mind's declaration of his name, the round man's face appeared in a reflection cast in one of the shards of shadow.

"No," the Doctor groaned. "No, Craig. Not you too."

"And Jack Harkness. The lady Vastra. Strax the Sontaran."

Their faces joined Craig's in the swathes of shadow. The Doctor's head fell, the enormity of his charges weighing heavily his shoulders.

"You travel with intriguing companions, Doctor," the Hive remarked coldly. "Such fascinating memories. All the better for our consumption."

"You. Let. Them. Go," the Doctor demanded, the end of his cooperation evident in his scolding tone.

"We couldn't possibly do that. They are far too... _tasty."_

"I will destroy you," the Doctor announced. "I won't hesitate. You give them back to me now."

"We may be able to compromise. But remember, there is no smoke without fire. We cannot ask for nothing in return. What are you proposed terms?"

"I'm not offering."

"A shame. We only want one thing. The memories of your companions were... interesting, but the mind of a Time Lord is infinitely more extravagant. Imagine... Nearly two-thousand years; eleven faces; hundreds of pretty girls..."

"Stop it."

"Oh... But then you never tell any of them any of this, do you? Poor Clara. Always destined for heartbreak in the end."

"I said stop it. You can't feast on my memories. It would be too much; even for you. The things that I've done, you could never comprehend."

"Try us."

"Every footstep. Every tear. From Gallifrey all those years ago. If I'd known... If I'd only known what I would set out to be. The destroyer of worlds. The bringer of death. In the end, it doesn't matter what name you give me, because they all translate to the same."

"And what would that be?"

"It would burn you. Incinerate you until there was nothing. My name is never meant to be spoken. Don't you see? Don't you see what you will unleash if you feed upon my true name?"

"Yes. It all leads back to this in the end, doesn't it Doctor? The path once walked, tread again so very soon. You will earn your name soon enough Doctor. When the fields of Trenzalore burn, and the silence is broken."

This proposed foreknowledge was enough to momentarily throw off even the Doctor. His eyes narrowed, uncertain as to whether the truth was being spoken, or not.

"What do you know about Trenzalore?" he asked searchingly.

The Monk's lips arched into the crookedest of smiles as the words left his mouth. "Only what has been. What will happen again. You know what is coming; no man can outrun his own destiny."

"I've managed pretty well so far."

"But there is no need for you to face it. _Give yourself_ to us, so that we may release your friends. Do not hesitate! Your time approaches. Embrace death; for it is no more of a stranger to you than life."

The Doctor held the gaze for a few, heart-pounding moments. There was the slightest glimmer of consideration in his eyes, but it was not long for the world.

"I have a better idea!" he cried, whipping the pistol from River Song's jacket and holding it level to the Monk. "How about I just break the connection between you lot, and your puppet here?"

The Monk's crimson eyes issued the challenge. "Go on then. Do it."

The Time Lord wasn't one to listen to demands from homicidal religionists any day of the week, but yet, his fingers itched on the trigger.

He turned his head to look at his companions, seeking out acknowledgement. Bravery that he did not have.

In River's eyes he saw encouragement. For certain, not manic homicidal encouragement, but encouragement to do what he knew was right.

But in Clara's, he saw forgiveness. In those deeply troubled, yet asphyxiating hazel irises. She may not remember him in the flesh, but he could see that their souls were still entwined.

He saw himself reflected in those eyes, and he knew that it could not be him. No, it was who she loved. The man she would always love, through thick and thin, and argument and bickering. He needed to be that man if he wanted to get her back.

Professor Song may have held a piece of his hearts once, but now Clara Oswald owned them both.

And with such encouragement, he turned around, and fired.

* * *

_-Many moments later-_

The next forty-five minutes of Clara Oswald's life were a complete blur. She remembered running; lots of running. No change there, then.

She'd fallen over at least once, but now she could barely remember feeling the pain she had felt as the rocky floor grazed along her knee.

Then, there was just emptiness, and a wave of white noise churned through her ears.

When the light returned to her surroundings, she was no longer in a cave, but a white-tiled room that smelt of disinfectant and particularly odorous perfume.

Clara recognised it instantly. She had, after all, spent several days recuperating here prior to Mirdan. She just couldn't recall why she would need a return visit so soon.

Sitting up in bed, it suddenly hit her in fits and bursts that made her jolt with alarm. The yellow eyes; the breath; the rows of dagger-like teeth.

She would probably have had a panic attack right there and then, if it wasn't for the feeling of a hand being placed upon her own.

The Doctor grasped her hand reassuringly, and tried to make eye contact with her before she hurt herself with panic.

"Clara! Clara! Stop! It's me! You're fine! Everything is going to be okay. They're gone. They won't hurt you again."

Clara found her breath, and took it in rasping gulps. The frantic darting of her pupils ceased entirely as they were laid upon the Doctor.

"Doctor?" she whispered, before pulling him into a tight hug.

He responded by pulling his arms right around her, almost as though to symbolise that he was the gates that would keep her from harm.

"Thank goodness you're okay! I don't know what I would have done! I-"

She put her finger on his lips and his ramblings ended immediately. Smiling, she moved the finger from his lips once she was sure that he had stopped, and gently poked at his nose.

"I'm making a habit of this, aren't I?"

He laughed, mainly out of relief, but also partially because he genuinely found her company to be of the upmost pleasure.

"How did we get here, though?" she asked. "There was the cave... and the... sphere thingy... Agh, I don't remember!"

"That's kind of ironic," he pointed out.

"Saved the day, did you?"

His face fell, and she could see now the guilt wracking him that his incessant smiling had served to cloak.

"The genocide of an entire species should never be considered as 'saving the day'," he asserted, his bright eyes slightly darkened to match with the enormity of his confession. "But yes, I did what I had to do to save you all."

Clara's eyebrows softened as she gave him a comforting smile. "You had no choice, Doctor. You did the only thing you could."

Watching her with a forced smile, the Doctor realised that for the first time that day, he was glad there were some details that Clara Oswald could not remember.

"I was able to get all of you out alive. But it goes without saying that I had help. Without those two clerics, Siv and Ghak, I could never have saved you. They're the heroes today."

"That's good. Give someone else a chance, eh?"

She laughed when the Doctor's face reddened, like a particularly ripe tomato. And right then and there, the Doctor wished he could share in her enthusiasm. That he could finally accept that all was well, and that he hadn't a care in the world. But he couldn't lie; not to her.

"Clara," he said softly. "You remember the shadow that you told me about? The one that attacked you in your dreams?"

"I try not to. Why?"

Clara instantly began to worry when she saw the terror in his eyes. If _he_ was scared, then what chance did _she_ possibly have?

"I don't know what it is, Clara. Not yet. But I do know where."

"What do you mean?"

He cleared his throat so that he wouldn't lose his voice from emotion. "When you lost your memories... when the Revenants _took_ them, it wasn't a complete process. Not like the others."

"I don't-"

"You couldn't remember everything, but you were so calm for someone who had no idea where they were. That was because they weren't able to take away all of your memories... that involved me."

"You're not making any-"

"No. You see, they couldn't completely wipe you out, because something stood in their way. Something _else_ wanted those memories."

"You mean... the shadow?"

"I think so. It's been a part of you for some time now, Clara. I will find out how it did it, and I will make it pay. But first... we have to get it out... before it does any real damage. _Or finds what it's looking for_."

Clara's mouth was agape with shock, so the Doctor closed it with his own. A gentle kiss; the kind that he knew would tell her that he would be there for her, every step of the way. He wouldn't abandon her. They were in this together.

Breaking apart, Clara swallowed hard and looked up into the Doctor's eyes. "Where is it, Doctor?"

He smiled sadly, and gently moved his hand across her forehead, sweeping away the brown hair which had been covering her eyes.

"_In your mind_, Clara. It's all... in your mind."

**TO BE CONTINUED IN... (DRUMROLL PLEASE...) **

**THE MID-STORY FINALE! Don't miss it! 30th July 2013**

* * *

**A/N: Due to my American holiday in a week's time, I've taken the decision to put the story on a hiatus for about a month. The same goes for everything else on my user. However, I can promise a send-off worth waiting for, where you'll finally get some solid answers (and probably, since I'm worse than Moffat, a ton more questions). **

**Also, a HUGE thank you to my new Betas, who have made this chapter exponentially better because of their help! That's _'Le Master Procrastinator'_ u/3122989/; _'Authorprincess'_ u/2322336/ and _'AlenaMai'_ u/1703578/**


	20. Serpengandr

**A chapter set almost entirely in snow. In this weather. Enjoy this window into how absolutely crazy I truly am. Oh, and because this is the last chapter for a while, I would really appreciate as many reviews as possible, so when I come back fresh I'll have something new to work with.**

**Thank you to every single one of you for your support and kind words so far. Enjoy the mid-story finale; I know I enjoyed writing it.**

**Chapter Twenty: Serpengandr**

_-Westfield Shopping Centre, London, December 24th 2012-_

_Clara Oswald was exactly where she was meant to be. Not by the pleasant splashing of the speckled-stone fountain, or even by the inviting collection of market stalls. She was in the arcade. And was trying hard to pretend she wasn't enjoying herself._

Artie Maitland's cheery round face fell as the red-lettered screen flashed before his eyes for the third consecutive time.

"Clara, you suck!" he cried in anguish. "Why didn't you revive me? I was right there in front of you!"

His babysitter gave him a sheepish grin, far astray from the apology he had been expecting. "I don't know Artie... That floor looked pretty dangerous. I could've gotten a splinter!"

"Hmph!" he protested. "This is why girls don't play video games! You're worse than my sister!"

Clara just laughs. "I have another twenty pence; you want to try again?"

"No!" he replies, standing up abruptly from the red-cushioned stool. "Let's do something else. Where's Angie?"

"She's with her friend, Artie. Don't go bothering her!"

Artie pulled a face. "You mean 'Vincent'? Posh Vincent, with all the 'charmed' this, and 'spiffing' that. Fruity tooty Vincent?"

"You shouldn't make fun of him. He's very special to your sister." Clara tried to be firm, but couldn't help the smile that crept to her lips. "Oh, but he is so posh isn't he?"

Artie laughed along with her. "A sprightly young cad!"

Clara burst into fits of giggles. She wasn't exactly an orthodox nanny, but that was why the kids loved her. She could relate to them in ways that their father couldn't.

"Come on, then! Let's go get an ice cream!" Artie suggested.

Clara raised an eyebrow. "An ice cream? In December?"

"Why not?"

Far from being practicable or sensible, Clara was actually very enthusiastic about the idea all of a sudden. "Do you think they'll do Chocolate Chip?" she asked excitedly.

"There's only one way to find out! Come on!"

_And so he watched them at a distance as they queued in the nearby Café, and then as they took a table to sit and enjoy their ice creams, completely ignoring the odd glances that they were receiving from onlookers._

"This was a great idea!" Clara enthused, giving her minty dessert a thorough licking.

"Wait till you try Coca Cola floats." Artie replied, swept up entirely by his sugar-based brainstorms.

_He took the next table across from them, and pretended to become absorbed in a free newspaper he had acquired when entering the mall. He got a few strange looks, as would be expected from seeing an old man reading a Toys R Us catalogue, but his interests were elsewhere, and he simply ignored them._

_The pair finished their unseasonal treats, and Artie scurried off to use the loo. Now was the perfect time; he made his move towards her._

Clara was slightly alarmed as she was approached by the tall, slightly creepy-looking elder, but she gave him a polite smile nonetheless.

"Hello," she greeted.

The old man forced a smile to his own lips, but due to the rarity of such a movement, it looked rather more like a grimace.

"Hello," he replied. "How are you today? Enjoying the festivity?"

Clara nodded her head energetically, which slightly irritated him. "I think the decorations around the town are beautiful. Especially that giant tree in the marketplace; my dad reckons the lights on it are so bright we could see it from the border!"

He tried his best to look interested in what she had to say. He had, after all, initiated the conversation. Still, the young had a habit of getting on his nerves. The cheerful outlook of this particular lass was increasingly repugnant.

"Yes. Well, I see you are the kind who enjoys Christmas, so I was wondering if you'd be interested in buying some of these?"

He held up a cardboard box which had been previously concealed beneath his jacket.

Clara's enthusiasm for the chat died when he mentioned selling; he was clearly a salesman, and she doubted he had much friendliness to offer her outside of his swindling. Yet, she would die before she let her manners slip, so she decided it was at least worth a look.

"What are they?"

He opened the flap so that she might see for herself. "Christmas baubles. In all the mighty colours of the rainbow. Won't you buy them? Treat yourself, or your partner."

Clara went a bit red at that last remark. Being single at Christmas time was not something she was proud of. Certainly, it wasn't something she wanted this old geezer to remind her of.

"I don't know..." she said, eyeing up the modest decorations. "I have a lot of these already. I mightn't have the room."

He sensed her withdrawal, and decided to play his trump card before it was too late.

"Oh my god," Clara remarked when she saw the tears bristle up in the man's wrinkled eyes. "Are you okay? I didn't mean that they're bad! They're really lovely, honest!"

"No, no..." he sniffled, shaking his head profusely. "It's not that. I just... I just don't know what I'll do..."

Clara put a comforting hand on the man's shoulder, which he instinctively (yet not visibly) resented. "What's wrong?" she asked softly.

"It's... it's my wife... She's very sick, and I thought that I could help raise money by selling these old things... I used to make them, you know. Some good they were... I can't even pay for her medicine with all the profit I ever got from these..."

Clara felt touched right down to her heart by his words. She was convinced that tears like his could not be feigned; that he was bleeding genuine emotion, and that compelled her to act despite her reservations.

"No 'one should have to go through that kind of heartache at Christmas." She moved her hand to his own, and he tried very hard to resist the urge to pull away. "I'll take them off your hands, don't you worry," she assured him.

Floods more plastic tears cascaded down his withered face. "Bless you!" he cried. "Bless you and all of your family!"

Clara smiled and reached for her purse. He couldn't believe his luck; how could anyone be this dumb? But then, he knew it wasn't fortunate chance that had brought about this result. The boss had told him that it could only play out in this way. That it was her destiny; just as it had always been.

"Here you go." She extended her hand out to him, now holding a twenty-pound note. "This is all I can offer you. I hope it's enough."

He took it quickly and passed the box over to her with a distinct lack of resistance, which Clara found strange, especially after what he had said about their sentimental value.

"Thank you. You have done more than enough. Thank you so much."

He stood up, and prepared to leave; his mission now accomplished, he had no intention of spending another second with this intolerable girl.

Just as he began to walk away, Clara saw a little strip of white paper hit the ground at his feet. She instinctively rushed after him, intent on returning it to him.

"Excuse me? Excuse me, sorry!"

Upon hearing her irritating squeals, he broke off from his impatient strut, and turned with restrained reluctance, allowing her to reach him.

"You dropped this," she told him, handing him back his tiny business card. She had not wished to snoop into his personal life, but the initials 'G' and 'I' were now firmly in-place in her mind, having read them off the card when she went to pick it up.

An unplaceable look crossed his face as he took back the card. It almost seemed as though he were angry with himself. For whatever reason that might be, Clara was unsure.

"Thank you," he imparted, before clicking his heels and rushing off again.

Clara barely noticed when Artie came back; her attention was almost entirely based on the inconspicuous box in her arms.

"Who was that?" he asked her, snapping her right out of her trance. She looked back at him, giving a little shrug of her shoulders.

"A man in need of a good Christmas."

* * *

_-Tibet, The Himalayas, 2013-_

"Sir! We're picking up movement on the long-range scanners!"

Po Ling's facial features contorted as he processed this unsavoury news. "Where?" he demanded.

"About two clicks north from here, and closing fast."

Ling cussed, much against his good nature. "Is it another Yeti?" he asked nervously.

"It's hard to tell," his bespectacled associate replied. "At this range, it could be anything."

"Right. We take no chances. Gather the men and all the weapons and meet me on the bridge in five minutes."

The man saluted, took off his headphones and strode purposefully from the room. As he left, Ling turned his gaze to the glass-panelled screen that he had been looking at, and sighed heavily as he watched the flashing red dot moving steadily towards them.

"Not another one," he whispered. "What is it that keeps on attracting them? Is it the food?"

He was aware that he was alone, and talking only to himself, but he didn't mind looking crazy. The sound of his own voice reassured him, and he had a lot of things to be worried about.

Yeti attacks had been getting more frequent in these past few months. They were strong, agile lumbering beasts and it usually took many bullets and men to put them down. It had been a long while since one had breached the walls of the city, bur Ling remembered the sharpness and ferocity of their claws, and knew that it wasn't a risk worth taking.

He took his brown fur coat (hardly adequate protection against razor-sharp teeth and claws) and made his way briskly down to the main gates. They were still closed tightly when he arrived, all four bolts having been drawn across. His men were waiting for him, carrying their finest weapons and not a small amount of fear with them.

Ling gave the order, and the great metal chains were unbound, giving way for the doors to swing open and reveal the tundra wasteland that lay beyond.

There had been heavy snowfall; that much Ling could tell from the manner in which his thick, leather boots crunched through the grains. He waded through the worst of it without much of an issue, paving the way for his men to follow.

The incessant bleeping of the handheld radar got on all of their nerves, but they had no choice but to track it. As they neared the source and the shrills got louder, they noticed the thinness of the ground ahead.

"This was much higher yesterday," one of the men remarked; a man wearing a thick fleece and bug-eyed snow goggles.

"He's right," a second man confirmed. "I took measurements here only last night. It was a good ten inches higher."

"Then we cannot proceed," Ling deduced. "The ground is far too delicate, and the weight of a single one of us could outbalance it in an instant."

"Then what do we do?" the man wearing the goggles asked. "The signal is almost right on top of us!"

"The only thing we can do," Ling decided. "We hold our ground here. Get into position, now!"

The men wasted no time lining themselves up like a Roman Shield Formation, their guns held level at their heads.

The chirpings intensified, and every finger in the vicinity went straight for their trigger. But what rounded that corner did not even slightly resemble an abominable snowman.

Ling had to squint against the ice-reflected sunlight to make him out, but there was no mistaking his distinguished figure. He would have recognised him anywhere just by his ludicrous bow-tie.

He raised his arm to his men to signal that they were to stand down. With a scurry of boots and gloves, the men quickly obeyed.

"Doctor," Ling said with a smile warm enough to melt the snow all around him. "What a pleasure it is to see you again."

* * *

"Doctor Who?"

The age-old enquiry was often the highlight of his day, but today the Doctor was in diminished spirits, and it only managed to summon the ghost of a smile to his frost-chapped lips.

The man who had asked him - a clean-cut fellow with glasses and a twirly moustache - went quiet when Ling threw him a disparaging look.

"I'm sorry," he apologised. "I could not resist... the chance to meet you in the flesh... Ling has told us so much about you-"

"And clearly not enough of it has sunk in," Ling interrupted. "The Doctor is not partial to the trivia of mere mortals like ourselves."

The Doctor smirked, quite the far-cry from the god he had been portrayed as. "No need to be so dramatic, Ling. I love a good chin-wag! So, what's your name?"

The man flushed red, and held the appearance of someone who was completely out of their depth. Funny, since the Doctor was only making small talk.

"My name...?" he replied, looking as though he might be unsure himself. "Uh... My name is Tyron! Tyron Matthas!"

Smiling sociably, the Doctor shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Tyron Matthas!"

Tyron looked flustered, and after adjusting his spectacles, returned to his work at the computer.

Clara did not wish to complain, for it was far beyond her, but she felt slightly spurned by her apparent invisibility in this place. Clearly, she was considered a nobody next to the last of the Time Lords.

As if he had read her mind, the Doctor went out of his way to address her concerns. "I wouldn't worry about them," he offered. "Religious fanatics; they see me as some kind of heavens-sent prophet."

"And is that an image that you like?" she asked.

The Doctor grinned back at her. "Only if I can have you as my Angel +1."

Clara blushed at his compliment, and wished for a better time in which to enjoy it. But she had to keep reminding herself that the Doctor still hadn't told her why he had brought her here. Tibet of all places. Sure, it didn't exactly match her expectations; gun-toting missionaries, after all, were hardly boosting to her image of a holy city untouched by the evils of civilisation. But if there was one thing she'd learned whilst travelling with the Doctor, it was to expect anything.

He didn't resist when she began to lean into him. Rather, he put his arm right around her, and pulled her in closer. Tighter than she might have liked, but she didn't mind because she could sense the strength of his emotion for her. The truth, that he wanted to hold her close, and never let anything else touch her. He didn't care that it was selfish. He felt her vulnerability, and wanted to put himself between her, and whatever might try and harm her.

She was his impossible girl. If they wanted her, they would have to come through him first.

Ling returned his full attention to the pair, and after apologising profusely for his absence, asked them about their business.

"You know why I'm here, Ling. All those years back; you clearly remember it."

Ling's jovial face fell. "Oh..." he stammered. "You mean... that..."

"I left it in your posession on my first and last visit, did I not?"

Ling looked divided by his loyalties. "Forgive me Doctor, but I recall you telling me... how dangerous it was. That it would only he safe here... That it was never to be used, for any reason... You made me promise!"

The Doctor nodded. "I remember the promise as well as you do, and you know that I would never, ever go back on it... unless I had no other choice."

Ling's fidgety eyes fell upon Clara. He had had his suspicions about her involvement in this ever since her arrival alongside him; out of politeness, he had not made mention of it.

The Doctor took the liberty of introducing the two. "Clara, this is Po Ling, an old friend of mine."

Ling smiled graciously at Clara. "Very old, it would seem, for you have not aged a single day."

He didn't bother to comment on that. Instead, he continued his introductions.

"Po Ling, this is Clara Oswald, my trusted partner in crime, and relative dimensions in space."

Clara shrugged off her grandiose title. "How d'ya do?" she asked casually.

Ling bowed his head respectfully. "An honour it is to meet you as well. It is a truly remarkable thing when a beautiful women is able to sway the firm decisions of a Time Lord. You must be very special to him."

Clara and the Doctor exchanged smiles if acknowledgement. They no longer bothered with denial.

"So, what do you say?" the Doctor proceeded, now looking back at Ling. "Will you help us?"

Ling held his gaze. "Of course. If I am to be responsible for tearing up the foundations and fabrics of time and space, then at least I do so alongside friends."

* * *

Tibet still had many more surprises in store for Clara Oswald. A gigantic, metal cage in the back garden being a specific stand-out. The garden itself was very pretty, exotic and colourful flora occupying the earth all around. There was a gentle stream that ran all the way through the garden and under a wooden bridge, and the edges bordered by fences were punctuated by serene views across the mountain. But she didn't really have the time to marvel in its splendour. Albeit, her attention wasn't really on the garden but the cage anyway.

It didn't exactly reassure her that the men carrying weapons and armaments began to thin out as they neared it. Neither did the enormous padlock that bolted the cage shut.

Ling went up to the padlock, and began to run his hands across the lock's surface.

"What is he doing?" she whispered.

"He's searching for the keyhole," the Doctor clarified. "It's a special lock; Tritovorian. The position of the keyhole changes every twenty-four hours, making it truly impossible for the uninitiated to penetrate."

That meant that whatever lay on the other side of this cage door was something invaluable. Or something incredibly dangerous. By now, she believed it may be both.

Suddenly, Ling's fingers brushed over an invisible hole, and golden light seeped out of it. With a rusty, wrenching squeal, the padlock fell off and the cage door swung open.

Clara gagged as her nostrils took a battering from a particularly musty odour coming from the corner of the cage floor. Ling put his arm out to ward his visitors back to a safe distance.

"Get back," he ordered. They didn't hesitate to obey.

When he was sure they were out of harm's way, he opened the tin box he had carried from inside, and took out a large slab of red meat.

Slowly, he walked forward across the straw-strewn floor, rubbing his fingers together and making laughable cooing sounds.

In response, a deep-throated growl emanated from the dark corner of the cage, followed by the heavy pounding of feet upon metal as a dark shape made its way forward.

Instinctively, Clara's hand sought out the Doctors; he took it gently and clasped it reassuringly.

The shape moved into the light, illuminating grizzly white fur and arms bulky as a tree trunk. Elongated, tusk-like teeth jutted from the roof of its mouth, and their ends were dipped in dried blood. A pair of hungry, yellow-shaded eyes flickered open, and became fixated on the swinging chunk of meat.

"Doctor," Clara stumbled nervously. "Is that... is that what I think it is?"

"A Ghajak Wandering Beast?" the Doctor returned.

Clara looked bemused. "No... actually, I thought it looked more like-"

"A Yeti," the Doctor finished. "Yeah, I see the resemblance."

Folding her arms, Clara challenged him to explain. "It's not a Yeti," he pointed out, very helpfully. "This is a Ghajak Wandering Beast!" He seemed very insistent.

Clara held her hands up in defence. "Woah, woah!" she said. "I'm not questioning your authority. Just saying, it looks quite a bit like a Yeti."

"Yetis don't exist."

"Fair point."

"But Ghajak Wandering Beasts do."

"I see that."

Their heated exchange completed, they both began to laugh, despite the inappropriateness of the situation. Throughout all their laughter, Ling had somehow managed to avoid having his head chewed off by a hungry Ghajak, and returned with a small, saliva-sodden pouch in his hand.

The Doctor was wide-eyed. "Did you just..." he managed.

Ling smiled and nodded.

"You kept it in there?!"

"What safer place to keep it?"

"Safe from thieves, maybe, but not at all safe for the guard!"

Ling shrugged. "Should I have put it in the piranha tank?"

The Doctor shook his head, exasperated. "Forget it! Just... forget it. Let's just get this over with..."

* * *

Mysterious silk bag in hand, Ling led them into a quiet and well-kept part of the city. The floors were twinkling from where they had been recently waxed, and healthy green bonsai plants paved the way to a imposing wooden door at the end of the hallway, marked by an intriguing metal symbol.

"It means 'reflection'," the Doctor told Clara. "Through this door is one of the very few places on Earth where true enlightenment can be achieved. We certainly are privileged guests to be allowed inside."

Ling turned to him and smiled. "You flatter us, Doctor, but if it were not for you, none of us would be here in the first place. This room is as much yours as it is ours."

Nonetheless, the Doctor and Clara both wiped their feet on the mat as they entered, bowing respectfully to the Buddha in the corner.

The room had a mystic quality to it, perhaps bolstered by the images of Chinese dragons that were embossed on the wall. A window overlooking the decline of the alpine mountain was the centrepiece of the room. Clara had no doubt that peaceful meditation could be achieved with such a serene image to look at.

It was, quite literally, a room with a view.

"Lie down," Ling told them, gesturing to two parallel stone tables in the middle of the room.

Clara did as she was told, even though she had no idea what to expect. The slab was comfier than she had expected; it felt more like a mattress than a rock.

"Now," Ling called out in a calming voice. "The two of you are ready to form the neural passageway."

Clara sat up, alarmed. "The what?" she squeaked.

The Doctor reached his arm out to her, and she relaxed at its touch. "It's okay," he assured her. "In order to help you, I need to enter your mind. That's what the bag is for; it contains a special powder collected from a dimension-hopping comet. It will induce a state known as 'Serpengandr', or 'sleepless dreams', and our minds will be synced together."

Clara inhaled deeply, and tried her best to smile. "I really wish you'd told me about this earlier."

"I needed you to stay calm," he assured her. "The process won't work if your mind is too jumpy."

"And how does telling me at the last minute prevent that?!"

He smiled. "Because that's how we always do things... We're creatures of habit."

"I hate you."

"You really don't."

"I know."

Clara sighed, took a deep breath, and lay back down. The Doctor moved his hand to hers, and they quickly became enveloped within one another.

"Good, that's good." Ling had walked around to the room above their heads, and now had his hand deep inside the bag, rooting through its contents. "The stronger the bond, the less chance there is of a neural passage collapse."

"And how likely is that?" Clara asked.

Ling looked thoughtful. "One in five," he decided.

"Oh god," Clara moaned.

"Don't worry," the Doctor said warmly. "I'll be right here with you, all the way."

Nodding, Clara grasped his hand as firmly as she dared, and closed her eyes tight.

She felt the tingles as the mint-green paste fell upon her face. With her eyes closed, she never saw how it began to grow in luminescence and light up across both her and the Doctor's faces. Neither did she see how the light stretched out from them in two identical lines, slowing closing in on each other.

"Neural alignment in five..." Ling began. "Four... three... two..."

Clara's heart raced in her chest, an unforeseen side effect of having your life in uncertain hands.

"One..."

Opening her eyes, Clara fully expected to see the disappointed face of Po Ling upon having the process fail, but instead she was greeted with a black, greasy ceiling fan, swinging around slowly in eerie darkness.

Somehow, she was already upon her feet. That disorientating fact, coupled with her general dislike of the dark, and she felt very small all of a sudden. Like a lost child. Now she remembered how she'd felt all those years back in Blackpool.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and her distress was instantly relieved. She turned to face the Doctor, who seemed as bewildered by their surroundings as she was.

"Doctor," she whispered, although she was unsure why she chose to speak so quietly.

"I don't think we're in Tibet any more..."

* * *

_-Unknown, Unknown, Unknown-_

"So..." The Doctor started. "This is your mind?"

Clara nodded. "I guess so..."

"I like what you've done with the place."

"Why does it look like my high school?"

The Doctor looked puzzled; a look not frequently adopted by him. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "Perhaps this is just a scenario created by your mind from your memories. No 'one knows what a mind looks like by itself. Blank, I would guess..."

Clara couldn't help but to crack a smile. She was glad beyond words that he was here with her. In a situation where she would normally have been frightened, his light-hearted humour made her feel more brave than she actually appeared.

"That's my locker over there," Clara pointed out, already on her way towards it.

"No, Clara!" the Doctor cried, grabbing her arm. "We don't know what kind of psychological horrors could be waiting for you in there!"

Clara shrugged. "Old socks?"

"Most likely a lot worse. Don't forget, your mind is only partly your own right now. You have an unwelcome visitor."

She nodded, remembering the dire situation and all it entailed. "So, we can expect a fight, then?"

"We can. Although in what terrifying shape or form, I cannot say-"

_"Clara Oswald!"_

Clara visibly sagged as the voice cut the air like a katana. She turned, begrudgingly, to face a man in his late fifties standing at the end if the hallway, who was dressed in a red jumpsuit and carrying in his arms a formidable-looking sports ball.

"Who's that?" the Doctor said, frowning.

Clara wiped the sweat from her brow, and gave the Doctor a worried look. "My high-school P.E teacher, Mr. Federicks."

The P.E teacher scowled at her. "That's Mr. Federicks, _sir_!"

Clara looked dumbstruck as he continued to bark at her incessantly.

"You've been reading those books again, haven't you? What did I tell you about them? They melt your brain, and your eyeballs will fall out of their sockets!"

"Is that what happened to you?" the Doctor asked. The old geezer didn't seem to notice him at all; he certainly didn't respond to his question.

"What are we going to do with you?" Federicks pondered. His 'thoughtful' face really reflected the actuality of his under-average IQ.

"I know!" he exclaimed. "I'll give you a real education, starting right here! Get changed, you're playing dodgeball!"

Clara groaned as she recalled the memory. She turned to the Doctor. "He didn't give me a whole minute to start getting changed before he blew on his whistle, and all the other kids pelted me with dodgeballs. I was in the infirmary for two days!"

The Time Lord was sympathetic. "He seems like a very nice man," he remarked.

Clara glared at him. "You think this is funny?"

"Kind of," he confessed.

"I was absolutely _mortified_!" Clara protested. "I didn't go near the gym for six months!"

"Hmph!" the memory Federicks shouted. "That's enough of a headstart. Take her out!"

Suddenly, all the classroom doors in the hallway swung open simultaneously and with a thunderous crash.

"Uh, Doctor..." Clara muttered anxiously.

"This is new, isn't it?" he replied quickly.

"Yeah. I think it is."

As they watched, several teenagers came out from the doorways, dodgeballs in hand. Their heads snapped around to look at the Doctor and Clara, their faces expressionless and creepily robotic.

The Doctor tugged on her sleeve, and they began to back off slowly, afraid of what the slightest jolt of movement might provoke.

Then, he slipped up on a loose tile, and _all hell broke loose._

Dodgeballs whizzed through the air like arrows, striking and bouncing off of every surface. The racket was ungodly, and if this was a real school by any stretch of the imagination, then Clara imagined that the teachers would hand out detentions by the second.

A stray dodgeball smashes into the ground in front of the Doctor, and instinctively he kicks it with the bottom of his shoe. But the instant that he does, white-hot agony transcends through his foot, and the ball is deflated.

Clara shrieked as she saw him go down, and ran to help him up. As she did so, several balls ricocheted off of her, and had seemingly no effect beyond the basic collision.

"Doctor!" she cried as she pulled him to his unsteady feet. "What's wrong?"

"Your mind sees me as a foreign contaminant!" he grimaced. "It's trying to boot me out!"

"Well, hurry up then!" she yelped. He slung his arm over her shoulder, and she did her best to walk him out of the hallway. They managed to stumble through the fire exit, but not before the Doctor received another dodgeball blow, this time to the back of the head.

The Time Lord stood no chance; the blow rendered him completely unconscious.

Shutting the door behind her quickly, she attempted to attend to the Doctor's wounds. But a cold, callous voice brought her straight out of it.

**"I'd welcome you here, Clara, but I imagine you know this place just as well as I!"**

Clara couldn't help but admit it: she was scared. Really scared. She hadn't been meant to fight the shadow alone. Now, she felt just as helpless as she did in all of her dreams.

"Better not get comfortable," she replied sourly. "You're leaving. _Tonight._"

The shadow tilted its head, and looked amused. **"And why would I want to do that? In exactly six Earth minutes, my minions will break down these doors. Then, you will be ejected from your own mind - becoming in the process - a vegetable."**

Clara didn't speak, so the shadow continued to boast. **"You see where we are right now?"**

She hadn't at first, but now she recognised the oddly distant shape of her living room. For some reason, it was decked for Christmas, and decorations hung from the tree in spades. Her old, sickly Christmas tree stood at the back, almost as if it was trying to hide it's unsavoury form.

"What is this?" she demanded. "Why are you showing me this?"

The shadow looked at her with utter dismay. **"You know, I may hold you in terror of me, but I am not all-knowing or all-controlling. This is not my work. I suspect that your mind is trying to guide you. Far, far too late, I'm afraid."**

Clara looked around her, but she didn't seem to get it. The shadow, upon seeing her incomprehension, took it upon itself to elaborate. Slowly, it's black, gaseous shape began to twist and reform before her eyes. She gasped as the shadow took on the garbs of a Victorian gentleman with an old, withered face. A face that recalled memories long forgotten.

"You!" she cried. "You're that old man who sold me the Christmas baubles!" Everything seemed so clear; and yet, Clara felt she understood less than ever.

**"Dr. Walter Simeon," **the geezer clarified. "Or you may call me... the _Great Intelligence_."

'G' and 'I'. Great Intelligence. It all seemed to make sense. No, wait. _No it didn't._ The Doctor would know, but he was beyond her reach now.

"I saw you die," Simeon said, with a soulless smile.

Clara's blood ran cold. "What?"

"What?" Simeon echoed, tauntingly. "Yes, Clara Oswald. Falling to your death from hundreds of feet in the air. Did it hurt when you hit the ground? I hope so. You aren't the first of your kind. The first of a line of souffle-scoffing, Doctor-kissing Clara Oswalds. There have been many; there will be many more before the end."

"What are you talking about?" Clara asked, a haunted look upon her face.

"Would you like to see her?" Simeon asked. "Clara Oswin Oswald. Daughter of Matthew and Rosalind Oswald, two of the finest clock-makers in Britain. What a disappointment you turned out to be."

Clara tried to find her voice, but it was lost in a breathless vacuum.

Simeon stepped aside, and standing behind him was a woman. A young woman; she couldn't have been more than twenty-five. She was very pretty, and her looks were further complimented by the gorgeous red dress that she wore. Clara froze to the spot, simply unable to move of her own volition.

_It was her_. The woman was - undoubtedly - _her_.

But it wasn't as if she was just looking in a mirror. This Clara actually seemed to be a different person. She was lest modest about her looks, for a start. She had her hair pulled up right out if her face, so as to be seen. Clara couldn't bring herself to imagine what line of work she was involved with.

Simeon seemed satisfied with Clara's horror-struck face, and decided to move on.

"And what about Oswin Oswald?" he asked rhetorically. "A bit of a geek, I'd say, but resilient! Right up to her bitter end."

Another woman walked around to his other side. She wore a long and red uniform which Clara did not recognise, but she kept her hair in a similar fashion to her own. She looked barely out of her teens; and almost certainly out-of-her-depth.

Simeon grinned like a madman, which didn't seem far off from the truth. He was obviously enjoying seeing the confusion on Clara's face.

"Will the real Clara Oswald please stand up?" he hollered, laughing horribly as he did so.

Clara heard a moan, and realised that the Doctor was beginning to stir next to her. Simeon noticed it too, and seemed to realise his game was over.

"Alright ladies," he called to his Clara duplicates. "It's time we showed miss Clara and her boyfriend out, don't you?"

With that, his hands went to their faces, and without even flinching, he tore them right off.

Clara screamed, even though she knew that they couldn't have been real people. It was still upsetting to see such barbarism; in her own mind of all places.

Disturbingly enough, she could see right through the hole Simeon had made to the backs of their illusionary heads. It made her feel quite sick.

Then, a loud crash on the door behind her made her jump. The dodgeball 'teens' were breaking in.

This seemed to please Simeon. "Oh dear. It appears we've run out of time now, doesn't it? _Tick tock, goes the clock..."_

_"The girl will soon be dead..."_ the headless Claras sung ominously.

_"Tick tock, goes the clock..." _Simeon repeated.

_"Her grave inside her own head..."_

**END OF CHAPTER TWENTY**

**Muhahahahahaha**

**That is all. **

**The Fall of the Silence will return on July 30th in: The Man With No Name**

**Mind-controlling Dubstep; Medieval jousting; Killer plants; Dinosaurs; Spaceship graveyards; Destiny; Whouffle. It's all still to come, and I hope I'll see you there.**

**ASouffleToServeTwo**


	21. The Man With No Name

**Chapter Twenty-One: The Man With No Name**

His name was Finbar.

Born in 1994; died in 1996. Only two years old. Found floating at the top of his bowl, the luscious orange colour drained from his skin; his eyes wide, and empty.

Clara Oswald did not know exactly why her thoughts had turned to her childhood pet goldfish, but it could have had something to do with the primitive fashion in which she was being carried. Her blood ran to her head, and her eyes swivelled up in their sockets, trying to see which way she was being taken. It reminded her of a spit roast; like she was a hapless pig held tightly over a blazing inferno, marched ever onwards by two starving hunters. She was fairly sure that the 'Whispermen' had never carried a ladder in their lives.

It had proved nearly impossible to keep track of where she was moving. However, when her eyes were adequately adjusted to the inverted pendulum of which her body was exposed to, she noticed that she had left the unseasonably-decked lounge, and now travelled some kind of endless balcony, where colourless stair-rails occupied the space beneath a dull, grey skyline.

Eventually, the swaying movement of her body ended abruptly, adjacent with the fierce roaring of blood in her ears. She inhaled deeply at once, feeling the oddly-calming sensation of air circulating in her lungs, surge through her once more.

But the pleasure was short-lived.

"Put her down here," rang the soulless voice of Dr. Walter Simeon, complete with his PhD in assholery.

With no time to prepare herself, Clara felt her body turn sharply to the left, and then she was on the floor, wincing as her knees made contact with hard stone, and her breaths turned to shallow raspings.

"He said put me down, not drop me!" she snapped as she got to her feet, brushed herself down, and glared at her captors.

Simeon smiled, but Clara doubted that he was in any way genuinely amused. "You won't be wisecracking in a minute, sweetheart," he assured her, clicking his fingers to alert his minions. "Take her arms so she doesn't try anything."

Clara struggled against the clammy hands, but found her efforts to be relatively fruitless. She was yanked from the floor, and pulled forwards. Her stomach dropped when she saw what lay ahead of her. It wasn't just a drop, it was nothing. Literally. Beyond her feet, there was just white, going on and on for ever, like a terrible optical illusion. She couldn't imagine what dark recesses of her psyche could have created such a bleak image;

As if reading her mind (ironic; he most likely was), Simeon

"Be ready at my command," Simeon ordered. "I want no less than a one-second delay."

The Whispermen nodded, a freakish gesture made a thousand times worse by their lack of a head.

Satisfied, Simeon turned to look at his feet. He sneered at the tall, brown-haired man that was sat there, but bent down so that they were face-to-face, whether either of them liked it or not.

The Doctor looked up at Simeon; even through his concussion and splitting headache, there was no mistaking the man. "You're supposed to be dead," he said, twisting his tongue so as to make it sound as insulting as possible.

Simeon stared back, unblinking, like a dead fish. Like Finbar. "As are you, Doctor," he countered. "Or did you not fancy Utah as the spot of your grave?"

The Doctor ignored him, instead focussing his attention on giving Simeon one of the emptiest stares of his whole life. Conveying emotion to this man only gave him further pleasure; he had no such intention. "What are you doing here?" he asked, as calmly as he could muster.

Simeon shrugged like a pantomime puppet, arms flailing. "Why not? It's been a lot of fun, I'll tell you!"

The Doctor had to resist the urge to grab him by his silly Victorian cuffs and strangle him. "A lot of effort went into this though, am I right? Modifying the control spheres; finding Clara without a TARDIS. I'd be impressed, if I wasn't disgusted."

"The control spheres were simple enough. I had engineers from the Horriot station fix them up and deliver them right to my door. They're multi-functional, and have served me well all of these years. Tibet; London; you know, I even implemented them into my Spoonheads! Into their CPUs. Made them laughably easy to control."

The Doctor's thousand-year-old eyes glistened slightly at Simeon's passing mentions, as they recalled archived memories from his distant past. "So you were behind the Wi-Fi? No wonder it went so badly wrong."

Simeon flushed red with badly-suppressed anger. "The experiment was a complete success! We were impressed with the results."

"We?" The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Who's we?"

"You're not going to live long enough to find out."

As if in response to Simeon, the Whispermen leaned forward and dangled Clara's flailing legs over the edge. The Doctor flinched at the sound of her panicked screams; it was the most unendurable thing he had ever had to listen to. It was taking most of his willpower not to leap up, and to her rescue.

Simeon smiled callously at the panic-stricken Doctor. "Let's make this nice and simple, shall we? You answer my question, or I'll give the order to drop her. Clear?"

The Doctor nodded quickly.

"Good. Now, let me be as direct as possible, so as not to arouse confusion. I'm sure you've heard the question before. This time though, you are going to answer it for me."

Clenching his teeth, the Doctor looked away. He knew what was coming, and he dreaded it more than anything in the universe. This was the moment that he'd been told about. Whether it was Trenzalore, or not, this was the moment that the Silence would kill him to prevent.

Simeon locked eyes with the Time Lord, and gave him such an icy stare that it almost froze his soul. He began, relishing his opportunity to make his enemy squirm.

"Doctor W-"

He never got to finish his sentence. It was the strangest thing the Doctor had seen in a thousand years of travelling. Simeon flew backwards, his face a tangible soup of terror, confusion and fury. His legs disappeared down the drop, as did the rest of him. Only his hat remained, floating gently down from its aerial roost until it came to a rest on the floor. As if in response to the loss of their master, the Whispermen exploded, sending strips of their papery skin fluttering in all directions.

The Doctor looked around frantically, absolutely dumbfounded by what he'd just witnessed. His eyes were eventually laid upon Clara, and the bewildered smile on her face told the whole story.

"Clara Oswald," the Doctor managed between manic laughter. "You sexy, beautiful, genius!"

Clara blushed a little and smiled modestly. "Guess he forgot he was in my mind. No fire exits."

He reached her and pulled her into a close embrace, his hands running through her hazel locks like he hadn't felt them in a lifetime. Reluctantly, Clara broke off the hug so that she may speak. "Is it over? Is he... gone?"

The Doctor grinned wider than a Cheshire Cat. "You did it Clara. It's over."

* * *

Silence broke his fall. One minute he was hurtling downwards on a trajectory far beyond his control, and the next, he was floating, cushioned as he made the journey between the two planes of existence. Simeon's body was no longer his own; whilst in the world of the un-living, he was bound by its rules. He could no longer hold a mortal form. Neither could he feel breath in its lungs. His lungs.

Projecting was simple enough, just as he had remembered it. All the time away from the ghastly place had made him uncertain that he could ever inhabit it again. But those months spent in his own, living purgatory paled into insignificance against the millennia that he had spent in here.

There were voices all around him as he moved. Faint, and distant, like a train pulling into a station at a further point down a railway line. He could not help them; neither did he wish to. They were almost completely out of his reach entirely. They got further every day.

He reached the junction, the nexus where the pale blue light was slightly refracted, bending inwards and outwards, and in every conceivable direction. He had nicknamed it 'The Fall'. A gimmicky name perhaps, but he thought it suitably described the fashion in which matter was transported when passing through its labyrinthine passages.

Time had no influence here. Neither did light, such as the kind to which foreigners were accustomed to. The colour that existed here was the product of the active minds that inhabited it, and nothing more. Yet, the Intelligence sensed that the time was nigh, and he broke down the barriers in his consciousness, making the appropriate preparations for contact. He wasn't left waiting long before the familiar voice rang throughout his mind, like a spear impaled all the way through his brain.

"Is your task complete?"

The Intelligence shifted uncomfortably. "Not exactly," he admitted. "There were... complications..."

"Yog-Sothoth, are you truthfully telling me that with all of your experience, that you were unable to traverse the mind of a human girl?" Forgiveness was not on the agenda, it would seem.

The Intelligence felt a greater sense of intimidation when his true name was dropped. He had to keep on reminding himself that he was a part of an alliance; he was a slave to no 'one.

"She was stronger than we had anticipated. No doubt, the influence of the Doctor."

"Yes." There was a puzzling change of tone whenever the renegade Time Lord was involved in the conversation. "He does have the habit of invoking emotion in the humans, does he not?"

"She was practically devoted to him. I sicken at the thought, but I believe that their shared love gave them an unearthly advantage over me. I noticed the girl getting stronger with every encounter, parallel with her strengthening bond with the Doctor. I became less and less able to read her."

"This failure is a stain upon you, Yog-Sothoth. I'm appalled by the idea that I have misplaced my faith."

The Intelligence sagged. "Please. You must understand. I need only be given more time. She is fragile, and I will break her. Give me more time."

"Time is running out. You know this."

"I will not fail you."

"You already have."

If patiences were wearing thin, it was unclear. His voice retained the same eerie calmness as he spoke, like a bed of water with no wind to stir it.

"I am certain that my time amongst her memories has not been worthless. I know this girl inside and out. She can't hide anything from me; she certainly can't protect it."

When there was no automatic response, the Intelligence presumed that his case had not been strong enough, and attempted to start over.

"Silence. If it were not for my dependency upon your delivery, I would destroy you right now. As it is, I still need you. Make it so. Deliver."

As if by a flick of an unseeable hand, the conversation had drawn to its close. The Intelligence would have drawn a breath of relief as the presence of the boss vanished into the ether; but of course, he didn't own a pair of lungs.

His mind was clear, set upon his singular goal. Clara Oswald would be broken. He would see to it personally this time.

And he knew exactly where to begin.

* * *

_(- Mauritius Island, Madagascar, Earth, **1603 **-)_

"So wait, let me get this straight."

Clara's lips curved up into a smile as she recounted, to the entire group but mostly to Craig Owens, (who seemed the most confused) for the fourth time, the events of her experience in Tibet.

"The Doctor gave me the idea. When he said that my head was not only my own any more. I thought, it was probably a long shot."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Doctor sitting on the tree stump near to her right. She searched for his face for support, finding that the gentle smile upon his lips and the adoring stare fixed upon his face granted her an extension to her confidence that she could never express enough gratitude for. He believed in her, when she couldn't even trust herself. With renewed energy, she continued to reminisce, adopting the same tender and motherly voice with which she had used to tell Artie and Angie stories. They had loved her stories.

"I saw that Simeon was distracted by the Doctor, and so I put my idea into practice. Worst possible time, I guess, but I had no choice."

The Doctor looked down, a confused guilt racking through him. Clara had suffered for so long at Simeon's hands, when all along he'd wanted the Doctor. It pained him as he came to the realisation that her pain was indirectly caused by him. To think, he had been worried about himself. About the prophecy, the question, and the silence that was sure to follow. How selfish could he be?

At what cost did he keep his secret?

How could it be worth more than a life? And more than that, how could it be worth hers?

"I pictured a lasso around his legs, and then imagined myself yanking it. He'd already planted the idea in my subconscious; that the drop would lead only to destruction."

Clara had noticed that her choice of words, and excitable phrasing of them, were making her sound more and more like the Doctor. A perplexing concept, but one that she found herself become quite enamoured to.

She whipped her wrist around, demonstrating. "Like that!" she exclaimed, brimming with infectious joy.

Craig Owens started to chuckle. "Like a Jedi mind trick? That is awesome."

The Doctor stood abruptly from his seat, his jacket swaying in the early morning breeze, and his flask of lukewarm coffee clutched tightly in his hand. He had been deep in his thoughts, but just like the switching of a light, he was able to return very briskly. "It is awesome," he agreed. "But Clara's no Yoda." He flashed her a wink. "She's much prettier." After watching her blush furiously, he couldn't resist a further jest. "Not much _younger_ though."

This earned him an award-winning glare, but the rest of his companions cracked up. Even the deadpan Vastra, who nearly spilt her drink as she rocked on her log seat. He was especially pleased to see Wilfred Mott enjoying himself. He certainly didn't hold the look of a man who'd been on the brink of death not long ago. His skin had returned to a healthier shade, and his voice had returned to him on top form. The Doctor was glad, for Wilf wouldn't be Wilf without his rambunctious mouth.

Jack put his flask down in a hollow on the log, and turned to look at the Doctor. "So, can we put this business behind us?"

The Doctor's smile dropped a little; he hadn't looked forward to breaking the jovial mood with his moody revelations. "Yes, and no. Clara's 'Jedi trick' has inadvertently created a barrier in her mind, so the Intelligence won't be able to use it again."

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Good news, no?"

"Yes."

"Then try to look happy about it."

The Time Lord sighed as he looked around from his Agent counterpart, across all of his friends; Human, Silurian and Sontaran alike. "The bad news is, that he will likely try to get the information some other way. He's been inside both of our minds now, however briefly, and that was always the disadvantage of using Serpengandr. It was, however, the only way, and I don't think either of us have regrets."

His eyes met with Claras, and as if a handshake had taken place in the air, he knew instantly that he had her support.

"He will try to accelerate my destiny on Trenzalore. It is written in prophecy, that silence must fall when the question is asked. This isn't strictly the truth. Depending on the _variables_, I may have no choice." As he said the word, he noticed Clara shift slightly in her seat. He wanted to reach out to her; touch her hand; tell her everything would be fine. That nothing could ever hurt her again.

But he would only he lying.

"I need you all with me," the Doctor admitted, reluctantly allowing the chink in his armour to show. "I can't prevent what's coming. And in whatever form it might take. It could all end any second. Or, it could end in a thousand years. I just don't know."

He looked up, suddenly aware that his head had dropped down during his musing. "But, in my opinion, I expect we'll hear from Mr. GI sooner than later."

He barely noticed when Craig's mammoth-sized hand came to rest on his shoulder. "You don't need to remind us, Doctor. We all know what we signed up for in here. I've told you what I'm fighting for, and that's Alfie. I'm sure everyone here could do the same."

No 'one argued, validating the point.

"I know that you all would," the Doctor related, with a soft, sad smile. "But sometimes I need to remind myself."

He looked out broodingly, and into the misty forest surroundings. He became aware of a low birdsong high up in the trees. In some peculiar way, the chirping sounds felt like a call to arms. A call to war, like an air-raid shelter alarm or a veteran bugle of a medieval battle. He tried his best to put it out of his mind.

"Well, the pep talks over," he announced cheerily, once again demonstrating his uncanny tendency to change his mood in seconds. "Who wants to find out why I brought you here, then?"

Craig frowned. "You mean it's not a forest?" He just shrugged heavily when a look of wonder was thrown his way.

"Of course it's a forest, you silly sausage! It's a forest in the Seventeenth century. You want to hazard a guess as to what we're doing in it?"

Craig paused, wondering whether his next assumption would be met with the same criticism. "Hiking?"

"No, that'd be boring!" the Doctor expressed, his hand rummaging inside his jacket as he walked. When he eventually reproduced it, he held within it a pair of rustic binoculars that wouldn't have looked out of place in a WW2 film.

His grin was magnified by the look of childlike curiosity on Craig's face. He held the binos above his head, like a victory chant. Eventually, he proclaimed - "We're going bird watching!"

* * *

"101 Places to See," the Doctor announced, finding his hands on the books smooth, textured cover. "Number Fifty-Seven, 'see the habitat of an endangered animal'. I guess this doesn't technically count, but I thought, why would you want to see fossilised remains in a museum when you could meet the real deal?"

They'd remained just as perplexed, until they caught sight of the first one. A short little bird, covered with brown feathers, and characterised by its curvy beak and oversized claw-feet.

He felt the tensions in his body withdraw as he watched his companions struck with awe and disbelief. Giving them this kind of gift was the best part of his day, making something he found to be quite ordinary into a renewed adventure.

"Dodos!" Clara squeaked, cupping her hand over her mouth. "They're adorable!" She looked up at her Time Lord with big, round eyes. "Can I pet one?"

He laughed, but in no way cruelly. "I should think so. They have very low IQs for an animal that lasted as long as they did. They're such a gentle species. With no way of defending themselves, they had to trust everything they met." He looked off sadly into the distance, clearly reminded of something, or someone.

Before Clara could attempt to comfort him, he was back, whipping around with a big smile and a pack of peanuts. "Would anyone like to feed them?" he asked coyly, knowing what he would hear already.

Once he had passed around the nuts, he settled down on a log to watch, removing a pair of round-rimmed spectacles from his pocket and replacing them on his face. To everyone else, they were still a mystery. To Clara Oswald, who had been inside the Doctor's head, they were a significant memento.

She quickly fed the dodos, feeling elation as the sweet little birds scoffed the food right out of her palm. Then, she went and sat next to the Doctor. He looked up, surprised to see her so soon.

"Enjoying the pigeons?" he quipped, employing a smile to disguise his distress. Clara smiled. "I love them, Doctor. Really. So much. But not as much as I love you." She looked in his eyes, careful not to let her own emotion betray her. "Tell me what's up," she ordered, but in a soft voice.

He returned her glance. "I'd say that your empathy was impossibly accurate, miss Clara, but then we all know that we've been together in the most intimate of manners. We've seen inside each other's heads."

Clara frowned. "The most intimate? I'm not sure..."

He ignored that last part, as if it had never happened, and continued. "Sometimes, I'm just reminded of old friends. I've lost so many along the way. But I never forget any of them."

"Like Rose Tyler," Clara offered, stunning both herself and the Doctor.

"Yes," he stammered. "How much do you know about..." He trailed off, suddenly feeling queasy, and not wanting to know the answer.

Clara wasn't repelled in any way, however. "Enough to know that you've moved on from... those feelings."

He nodded, relieved. "I've always known that I would outlive them all. Does it stop me? No. I'm such an old fool."

Clara's hand landed on his, and he held it so tightly that he feared he may have caused her pain. "You'll always have me, Doctor," she informed him. "Till the day I die."

That was what they all said. He was touched, of course. He just couldn't bring himself to admit to her that it wasn't true. Never could be.

Then without warning, the air was penetrated by a horrendous screech, so loud and disturbed that it eemed to move the trees themselves.

_**"Doctoooooooooooor!"**_

The scream brought him to his senses, and he leapt up with barely a pause, rushing over to its origin and, therefore, to its solution.

* * *

TO

**TO BE CONTINUED...**

**NEXT CHAPTER: THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

**Hiya readers! I hope summer has treated you well! Just a few words about the story now: There are five arcs left before the endgame. Each arc will comprise of five chapters, and each will last the duration of a month. What this means is that I won't have finished the story by the anniversary, like I wanted to, but that's not important. I'll definitely have finished before Peter Capaldi arrives proper in 2014. **

**On the subject, what does everyone think about Capaldi as Twelve? Tell me in the reviews!**

**ALSO: A Big thanks to my new Beta, _IceRoza._ I'd post your profile here, Ice, but FF hates links :(**

**Thanks again everybody for the follows and favs! They mean a lot to me!**

_**ASouffleToServeTwo**_


	22. The Beginning of the End

**Chapter Twenty-Two: The Beginning of the End**

_- UNIT Headquarters, London, 2013; 7:21 AM -_

In the pristinely kept corridors of the seventh floor, Kate Lethbridge-Stewart was enjoying her early morning coffee. The taste was invigorating to her taste buds; bitter, yet full of vibrant flavour. The same could not be said of the accompanying biscuit. A Snickerdoodle. Oh, how she hated the things. And yet, the unbridled optimism in the young boy's eyes as he would bring it to her made it somewhat impossible to refuse. She crunched it down quickly, and swallowed it with a swig of coffee, determined not to savour the unpleasant sensation.

In front of her on her desk was the files that she had ordered. 'TOP SECRET: Priority Level Three' was stamped in red ink all across the envelope, so she knew that it would require her full attention. Her eyes gazed upon the subtitle, which also peaked her interest. 'Operation Muffle.' Not the classiest, or most coherent of names, she supposed, but it was enough to support the coffee's effort to keep her awake on six hours of sleep.

Her hand had made it to the seal, and was in the midst of breaking it, when the siren in the corner of her office flared into life, and the room was overwhelmed by sound.

_- Wharrrrrrrp -_

The incessant wailing pierced straight through Kate's ears, inducing mild pain, which unfortunately meant she would have to evacuate the office. She had just gotten comfy, too. Sighing, she gathered her papers in one hand, and attempted to balance her coffee in the other. She left the room waddling like a penguin, trying to keep her load afloat.

The surveillance room was on the fifth floor, down two flights of stairs. The hardest two flights of stairs of Kate's life. Finally, she nudged the door open with her head, and entered a room lit up almost entirely in a bright, red glow. The plump man in round spectacles saluted as she came in, bouncing out of his chair and saluting.

"At ease, Bernard," Kate said softly, stifling a yawn. "So, what's going on? I haven't seen this place so lively since the cubes."

Bernard scratched at his thinning hair nervously; he seemed a tiny bit embarrassed. "We've had a system invasion. There's an unauthorised entity in our servers."

Kate stiffened; she no longer felt so bored. "How far have they gotten?"

"Pretty far," Bernard said, his eyes uncertain of whether to address Kate or the flashing monitors. "But I've managed to put up a firewall. Seems to have stopped them for now, at least."

"You've done a good job," Kate assured him, before striding over to the wide-screen computer to take a look for herself. Her hand glided over the mouse, and she quickly input her login details. The hacker was represented on screen by a logo; clearly something they'd chosen for themselves in order to look impressive. It was the insignia of a butterfly. They'd also given a title to accompany it.

"Themanwithnoname," Kate read in a whisper, "_11_." She didn't really understand the need for a number at the end. But then, she wasn't really a technological person. More like a relic, of a much darker age.

"Whoever he..." Bernard said, adjusting his glasses. "Or possibly she, is, they have a frankly terrifying knowledge of computers. We're more secure than Area 51! I dread to think what someone like this might be trying to accomplish."

Kate felt slightly nauseous, but she mostly put it down to the biscuit. "Will they be able to get through?"

"Almost certainly."

"Then we have no choice," Kate affirmed. "Shut the system down; all of it."

"But-"

"We don't have time to argue! There are things in here not meant for the public to see, or know. Turn it off. _Hurry!"_

Kate felt bad for snapping at Bernard, but the possibilities of what this hacker could accomplish (and the effects of them doing so), were a far more distressing concern to her.

Bernard flipped a switch, and the red light died as the monitors all around the tiny room faded to black. The area was suddenly filled with an eerie calm, silence replacing the furious whirring of computer parts.

Kate breathed deeply, and begun to rub her temples, thoughts running through her head like gold-medal olympians. Her eyes darted about, as if they were searching for a way to make sense of them. Bernard cleared his throat quietly, and the noise snapped her out of her state.

"Get the Major on the line," she instructed.

Bernard was bewildered by the enormity of his task. "I don't have the authority, ma'am. I'm clearance level three, I-"

"Override code Alpha-Omega-Echo," Kate interrupted, prompting Bernard to bring out a notepad and pen. "Tell the office: Priority Protocol 2765. 2765. Do it."

Bernard rushed off in search of an intercom, leaving Kate to suffer at the hands of her tortuous thoughts.

And there were many.

* * *

- Mauritius Island, Madagascar -

The Doctor had seen many terrifying sights in his innumerably long life, but Craig having his arm chewed off by a raving dodo was a new precedent altogether. The Time Lord was so stunned, he was barely capable of bringing himself to act. Only Craig's ear-assaulting screams brought him out of his daze.

"Bad dodo!" he cried, giving the tiny bird a murderous stare.

"Yeah, really helpful!" Craig yelped as he struggled on the floor. "I think my arms coming out!"

"Okay, okay, don't panic!" the Doctor yelled, his arm flailing indicating his hypocrisy. "What to do against an angry dodo? Gah, I was never taught this!"

The circus was brought to an immediate end as a loud crack rippled through the air, and the dodo let go of Craig's arm, and fell to the side. The cough-inducing smell given off by the smoke in the air was sufficient a stimulus to stir the Doctor back into sensibility. He proceeded to give River - along with the gun in her hands - a good, long glare.

"Only you," he said, pointing an accusing finger at his 'spouse'. "Could live with killing an endangered animal."

River shrugged. "It doesn't count if they're already extinct, sweetie."

The Doctor shook his head in disparagement, his gaze failing even to cross River's own.

"It's not dead," River revealed, satisfied with the few moments of satisfaction she had gotten out of the Doctor's expression. "Concussive shots. Marry a man who appalls guns, and you have to find ways to make excuses."

As if to back her point, she pulled back the catch on the gun, readying another shot. "But you'd better behave. I still have three more."

The Doctor wasn't listening any longer, however. His attention was fixed upon the unconscious dodo, with its wide, staring eyes.

Wide, staring GREEN, eyes.

He crouched down to observe its body, and was immediately repelled by a sudden gyrating movement in its legs. He stepped back, alarmed not only by what he had seen, but by what he knew it meant.

"Something's controlling them," he told the rest of his group, who were watching with unconcealed horror. "Something powerful. We need to get back to the TARDIS."

Before any of them could so much as speak a word, he strode off purposefully, no doubt seeking the sanctuary of his wondrous machine.

* * *

_"Doctor?"_

Clara tried once again to interject between the Time Lord and his intense staring at his TARDIS console. Once again, she failed. He was muttering to himself: gibberish mostly, but Clara caught the odd word.

_"Telepathy!?"_

**"Psychokinesis?"**

"Irravagiopsychoatry?"

_**"DOCTOR!"**_

His head snapped up, as if someone was holding a knife to it. He appeared dazed, and didn't seem to have any recollection of what he had been saying. He spoke in a manner which almost appeared sleepy.

"What is it?"

Clara blinked. "I don't know, maybe, _what is going on here?"_

He shook his head with ferocity; like he'd been asked to listen to a Bieber track. "I don't know. But it's big."

"You might have mentioned that already."

"Well, the size is the key. Would a castle go unnoticed in a town filled with houses? No, size is key. We have to know what it is we're dealing with. Finding it's weaknesses is the first step to doing so."

River approached the console hesitantly, almost as if she expected to be slapped. Such timidness was foreign to her character. The behaviour even seemed to surprise herself, as her pupils were wider than saucepans in the whites of her eyes.

"What is the second step?"

The Doctor looked at her, and then at the rest of his companions' faces. His face indicated his surprise at seeing them all there; forgetting of course, that he had brought them.

"Tracking it down," he announced, feeling like a police commissioner addressing his hordes of loyal officers. "There's a signal. It's faint, but its there. Sexy's trying to get a lock."

Concurrent with his statement, the TARDIS began to make spluttering, wrenching groans. 'They sounded somewhat like a human cough,' Clara thought to herself privately. Steam poured from every grill, and she could almost smell the time machine's sweat as it strained against a force much stronger than itself.

The monitor on the right to the Doctor's head lit up, but before he could read its information, he was thrown off his feet, unbalanced by a huge party of shockwaves bursting through the ground effortlessly, like it was made of sand. Clara wobbled, and clung to the handrails like a long last sister as her very foundations were cracked and shaken to the point of obliteration. River felt a nauseous pang in her gut, and she uttered a voiceless prayer. She was terrified, because she knew what it meant.

Something else was controlling the TARDIS.

* * *

_-UNIT-_

Major Nelson was by no stretch of the imagination, a calm man. He had anger lines all across his forehead, and eyebrows so bushy they could have passed for squirrels. His hair was a wispy, lifeless shade of brown, and very little of it remained upon his scalp. Fists permanently bunched, his presence in a room tended to make one feel as though they were sinking in quicksand.

However, as he stormed down the corridors of Floor Seven and into Kate's office, he took anger management to a whole new level.

"I suppose you've heard?" he asked Kate sharply, as her nerves drew from her desk like a puppet on strings.

"The hacker?!" she stammered. "Yes, I'm afraid I ha-"

"Hacker?" the Major squawked, nostrils flaring. "Hacker? Dear god, we have to deal with that too?"

Kate frowned. "Too? What's going on?"

"It's all over the news! Are you telling me you haven't seen it?"

Kate felt faint, like the floor had disappeared beneath her feet. What could he be talking about? What could she have missed?

He raised his animalistic brow condescendingly, as if to challenge Kate. "The people? In Trafalgar Square?"

Another shake of the head. Another condescension.

The Major sighed, his sleep-deprived muscles making his cry sound akin to a foghorn. "Then we have a lot to discuss."

* * *

_Pfffffffffffffft._

The fire extinguisher coughed up its last, and went back into hibernation. Clara Oswald's hands trembled as she dropped the metal cylinder, and stood back to rake in the scene. It was like something out of one of her worst nightmares. Metal beams fallen across the aisles; dissipating smoke seeping from the control panels. She was standing inside the corpse of the TARDIS. She felt like a best friend had died; it was harrowing. Yet, it seemed so familiar. Had she seen it before?

"Impossible," Clara said to no o'one in particular. "I'd remember."

She started to creep through the wreckage, when the thought hit her at a hundred miles an hour.

_Impossible._

_Impossible girl._

_**My** impossible girl._

"Doctor!" she shrieked, her fingers already rummaging in the mess all around her, trying to move some of the debris. She toiled for countless minutes, felt the urge to crawl away and cry; fought it. Eventually, when she solemnly believed her hand could move no more, she caught sight of a black tuft, and her despair turned to the Time Lord was not easy, but Clara had newfound herculean will behind her. She would NOT leave him in here. She wouldn't leave any of them. When his face emerged from the murk, an optimistic smile perched on his lips, Clara wanted both to slap and kiss it.

"I never thought I'd miss that chin!" she cried, pulling the Doctor free from his tomb, where he collapsed into her arms.

"Doctor!" Clara exclaimed, in horror. "You were supposed to take over! I've done my bit!"

She turned his head around so she could search his eyes, and her blood ran cold when she saw his handsome face contorted with pain.

"Doctor? What is it, what's wrong?" she asked franticly, feeling her heart hammering against her ribs.

He didn't speak; perhaps he couldn't. Instead, he removed his hand from his side, and the gesture was equally significant.

Clara covered her mouth to keep the scream in her throat imprisoned. There was an enormous shard of metal in the Doctor's side, and blood was seeping out of the wound in a waterfall. Tears stung Clara's eyes, and she instantaneously lost all of her will.

"Doctor?" she said softly. "Hold on. You're going to make it, okay? Let me get help... Let me..."

Her voice disappeared, for it had been engulfed by sobbing. True to her word, Clara Oswald tried to stand up. But her legs would not permit it, and the Doctor's sluggish eyes followed her to the ground. She was aware of nothing but the sound of her own demented cries, and the gentle tingle of the Doctor's fading breaths as they connected with her neck.

Then, one word: "Clara."

* * *

_- The Past -_

"Hello, is that technical support?"

The grumpy rumbling down the end of the receiver indicated to Clara Oswald that it was not, in fact. For the fourth time. In five minutes.

Cutting off the belittling moaning with a quick press of a button, she settled back in her chair, let out a disbelieving groan, and returned her gaze to the crowded mess of the Yellow Pages. Hours she'd been trying the number. Hours. All she wanted was the WiFi password!

01689 552317

Dialling...

Her fingers tapped away on the spine of the Pages impatiently, wondering what to expect. A chinese restaurant? Airport security? The White House?

"Hello, who is speaking?"

It was a woman's voice. Sassy, but not unpleasantly so. There was a spark in there that seemed almost to reignite Clara's misplaced passion. A surge of all the good things in life.

"Hi there," Clara answered, curious to see how long it would take before the woman hung up on her. "Is this technical support?"

From down at the other end of the line, there was a sound like a circuit exploding. The woman laughed nervously. "I guess you could say that..."

Clara broke out in a relieved grin. "Great! I was calling about my laptop. You see, I can't get a signal, and-"

She was cut off mid-sentence by another chorus of mechanical shrieking. This time, Clara was convinced it was something more than simply professional.

"Hello?"

"Sorry," the woman said, sounding slightly rattled. "You were saying something about your laptop?"

"Uh-huh." Clara felt like she had been stuck in a revolving door for all eternity.

"Okay, listen. I'm going to redirect you. A friend of mine, he's good with computers and technology. Do you have a pen and paper handy?"

Clara didn't, but at this point writing all over the Yellow Pages felt like nothing more than an inconvenience.

"Ready?" Another explosion.

"What's going on back there?" Clara asked, attempting to convey friendliness, rather than nosiness.

"Ah, nothing. Just a few _renovations_, to the... _shop_."

Clara pursed her lips. "Okay, ready."

"07700-"

Boom. The explosion rattled Clara's teeth. She jumped back in surprise. "What th-"

"-900461."

The ink, still wet from where Clara had copied the number, became partly smudged across the back of her hand, causing her to curse. The sounds coming down the receiver were now so loud that Clara was forced to replace the phone on the latch. She started to imagine the work of the power drill in the shop, and how anything could have been so loud, but dismissed the thought. It wasn't her business; she'd gotten what she'd come for.

_07700 900461_

Clara would call it. But first, she needed a nice cup of tea.

* * *

_- The Present -_

"Clara."

Her eyelids fluttered, but she did not open them. She couldn't find the strength, through all the disparity she felt.

"Clara. You have to listen to me."

A women's voice. Soft; self-assured; distantly familiar. But almost certainly from the larynx of an omniscient being, rather than any solid guardian who could save her themselves.

"He is going to live, but not without you."

'No, he isn't,' Clara thought back. 'I can't save him. I don't know how.'

"Help is nearby, but you have to move him. Otherwise, he will die. I know that I can trust you, Clara. You are a good influence on him. You make him better."

The light seared her eyes after their long affair with the darkness. She tried to move, found that there was still life in her body. Energy; will; strength. However, it seemed that her assumptions about the owner of the voice were correct, for only a hollow and empty TARDIS surrounded her, yet the voice kept ringing in her head.

"Good. Good, that's it. The others are fine. You need to help the Doctor, and only the Doctor."

Clara put her hands on the still Time Lord's waist, and heaved him up, causing sharp pains in her shoulders. She fought back the tears, forced herself to carry on, slowly walking the Doctor across the wrecked TARDIS floor. He was muttering incomprehensibly; something about 'Einstein', and 'fiver.'

The door was, thankfully, unblocked by rubble, and Clara kicked it open with one leg, and stepped out into the sunlight. She saw staring people; speeding cars, and then, just before her fatigue took her, the barrel of an AK-47.

* * *

_- UNIT -_

Trafalgar Square was like a scene in a zombie movie. Hundreds, nay thousands, were gathered in the historic plaza. Nothing out of the ordinary in itself. Only, not a single one of them were moving. There were police barricades all around the area, serving to keep back the hysteric masses of loved ones, families and reporters trying to get their way.

"Good lord," Kate muttered, forcing herself to break the gaze. She had seen enough on the screen; the situation spoke for itself.

"We're sending in teams now," the Major announced. "Have you ever seen anything like this?"

"No," Kate admitted. "Although there was the WiFi, and the Cubes-"

"-And now this."

"And now this."

The screen flickered, and changed. There had been a development. The cameraman swung his equipment around, trying desperately to get a good picture of the blue blur that had appeared from over the top of the statue.

Kate froze. "That looks like..."

The TARDIS hovered for a further few seconds, before flittering away, like a shooting star.

"What is he doing?" the Major asked; demanded, really.

"I don't know," Kate murmured. "But I think it's going to be one of _those_ days."

**TO BE CONTINUED IN: The Thousand-Year Fear**

**Thank you for the continued support of my readers and betas! Updates are going to be slow as ass lately due to school, but stick with me and I'll try my best to give you a good time!**

**ASouffleToServeTwo**


End file.
